Beat Down Alley
by HarleyMischeif
Summary: Established Johnlock. Please read warnings that are inside. John needs a break, Sherlock wants John to break, or so he thinks. First part of a continuing series written with Sherlockspipe. Angst, violence, unhealthy relationship, sex. Part of a series of one shots so far unnamed.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N warning for this and future chapters: Violence, Abuse, controlling relationship, drugs, lots of sex, knife play, gun play, every possible kink you can think of. If you don't like it don't read it. If you do then enjoy. I do not own Sherlock obviously.**

**This will be a series of stories thoughout John and Sherlock's relationship. It will be dark, angsty, fluffy and very, incredibly porny. Each one was written with Sherlockspipe and will probably be littered with typos. (Mine, not hers. Many apologies in advance.)**

John was tired. Well - he was two glasses of wine in and feeling better, but after being dragged around for the past few days by Sherlock, he was -really- tired and in dire need of some relaxation. Away from Sherlock.

So when the sister of their client had looked on, puzzled, and politely asked John to dinner after Sherlock had run off to - somewhere, without a thought, without so much as waiting up for John or sending a text, and John had contacted the Detective-Inspector in charge to learn that yes, Sherlock was fine, had already caught the criminal 'too easily' and was being a bastard about it - John said yes. It had been a lovely dinner indeed so far, and just what John needed - he loved Sherlock but definitely, absolutely needed his own time every so often with people a bit more... well. Someone to share a pint with and watch a match, or in this case, wine and be horribly mundane with, but it was very pleasant. And if the fact that she was very pretty helped him to forget how annoyed he was with Sherlock, well, he was only human.

But there really was no forgetting about Sherlock for John, or never for very long. This point was especially proven when John looked up to see Sherlock striding into the restaurant, eyes darting across the room and settling on him, an odd expression on his face. He had a feeling he wouldn't be getting dessert after all.

Sherlock pushed open the door of the restaurant immediately scanning the room like a hawk. He hadn't slept or eaten in days the case had taken over everything. He was glad to have work and unable to understand the despondence in John's actions and expressions over the last few days. It frustrated him, surely John had known what he was getting in too.

He stormed over to the table sat down on the vacant chair an unfamiliar scent in the air. Floral and slightly sickening - perfume. He looked across at John one eye brow raised.

"Who are you with?"

"Sandra, client's sister. She was there when you stormed off and jumped in a cab and suggested we get dinner, though I'm betting you don't remember."

John's posture straightened in his chair and he noticed he was fiddling with some of his cutlery on the table, so he stilled his hand, dropping it to his lap.

"What are you doing here?"

Sherlock cleared his throat as he looked over John. John was dressed for a 'date' or how he used to dress for them before he and Sherlock had started their relationship. Sherlock's insides seemed to burn and scratch uncomfortably within the confines of his body.

"Wait, I know I am somewhat gifted but I seem to being missing something of some importance John...This...woman, asked you out to dinner and you agreed? Then failed to tell me about said dinner. And then when I find you partaking in such a dinner you've obviously dressed to make an impression. I'm sorry if I'm finding this a little hard to grasp."

"Failed to tell you? I couldn't reach you at all! I had to call the DI to even find out what had happened to you or where you had gone - though I did get caught in the rain, thanks for that, so of course I changed - the DI said you were already finished up and having a go at the other officers, so I thought I'd leave you to it. So yeah, now I'm having dinner. People do that."

John's stomach twisted uncomfortably and the room seemed to grow hotter. He really did not appreciate the look Sherlock was giving him and he felt highly strung, on the defense, and defending against what, after all?

Sherlock's eyes widened and he just sat silently listening to John's quick tirade of words.

"Are you quite finished? I would apologise for not being able to shower you in attention today but I would of thought it was obvious that I needed to focus on the case. That is of course unless your ego is more important that catching a serial killer. I would suggest in the future if you have nothing sensible to say not to say anything. Idiocy doesn't suit you John and it certainly doesn't agree with me."

John sat there stunned, mouth parted, and licked his lips. His hand under the table balled into a fist, relaxed, and repeated the motion several times. Unbelievable.

"I'm the egomaniac here, right. Well. I would say I'm quite finished indeed. Are you?"

It was disorientating, the level of anger he felt at Sherlock showing up here like this, and the way he spoke to him. Sherlock never did pretend to be a kind or remotely polite person, but John had had just one too many insults as of late, thank you, and was fed up with being completely ignored one moment and berated the next. It made his blood boil.

"Sandra had to take a phone call right before you - showed up. I suspect she'll be needing her chair back soon."

Sherlock snorted the tightness in his chest worsening. His blood felt as if it were turning to venom and his hand were shaking. He knew he was heading to a dark and dangerous place. The hot possessive anger would creep it's way in and take a hold. And if he left now...then what...left John with Sandra. His voice was quiet and he tried hard to keep it steady and almost succeeding.

"Yes I think we are finished." He stood up a little violently the chair almost toppling over due to the force. "Enjoy your date." He turned and walked out, willing himself not to look back.

John watched in astonishment as he got what he wanted - or what he thought he wanted, as Sherlock turned and left. He didn't feel any relief for it. Damn it, there was no way on earth he would be able to enjoy any of the rest of his evening, and the two of them certainly weren't 'finished' with this. And surely he couldn't really stay at this table any longer, not in this emotional state, and not with Sherlock sneering the words "enjoy your date" over and over in his head. Ridiculous. Childish. Obnoxious - as was the part of him that said 'it kind of was a date' because no, it absolutely wasn't.  
So he got up and left a message with the waiter to please tell the lovely young woman he had been dining with that he was so sorry and had a lovely time, but had to leave due to a madman emergency - she'll know what you mean - and headed for the door to run after Sherlock, not really wanting to find him at all.

Sherlock was walking. For once he was paying no attention to anything. He had no idea which direction he was heading in or his destination. He knew two things: he was not going home and he was not going to find John. When he thought of John sitting at that table waiting for _that_ woman his stomach churned and he felt sick. She had no right to even talk to him. John belonged to him and he didn't give a fuck if that was considered 'a bit not good'. He kicked his foot against a stone on the street and watched it bounced along the pavement and into the road.

John exited out onto the pavement and... had no idea which way to go. He could see Sherlock in his mind - upturned coat collar, scowl on his face, absolute disregard for everyone in his way - but couldn't picture which way he'd gone. So he just started walking and pulled out his phone. He just knew Sherlock would never answer his call, but at least with a text, he'd see the message. He ignored all of the more unsavory things he'd like to say to Sherlock right now and composed his text.

Left the restaurant. Which direction? - JW

Reply required, or I'm asking for coordinates from CCTV. - JW

Sherlock felt the buzz of his phone against his hand resting in his pocket and yanked it out almost viciously. He blinked at the screen and sneered. Very mature, in essence it said 'give me what I want or i'll tell your brother.' He considered ignoring it turning his phone off or even throwing it at one of the goddamn CCTV cameras. No, add a Mycroft to any situation and it becomes a thousand times worse and he wasn't sure he could deal with this being any worse. He pushed down hard on the keys having to delete the message several times due to typos he was making in anger, finally he sent it.

Piss off. Hope reply is satisfactory. - SH

It took longer than he expected but John was glad to have received a reply - or he was until he actually read it. Nice, very mature. He reasoned to himself that maybe a bit of a break from each other would do them both good, calm them down, and later at home they could discuss this like mature adults. He actually laughed at himself as he walked down the street, searching for a cab. Thing never turned out that way, the longer it festered, the uglier and blacker it got later. And Sherlock responding like a mature adult? That would be the day

Right. As you wish, see you at home. - JW

It was never a date. - JW

Sherlock growled at the new text. Why was John so blindingly stupid, as if that was even the point. He had thought John understood. But no. He laughed bitterly to himself and saw a young couple shoot him a weary look, he shot dagger at them with his eyes and they looked away quickening his pace.

I don't care. - SH

John sighed and pulled out his phone. Sherlock could never, ever not have the last word in anything. He chewed his lip and really, really shouldn't answer. Fighting through text messages was pathetic and would never come to any good. John came up with more reasons to not continue texting than he knew what to do with.

You very, very obviously do. - JW

Sherlock was getting more and more frustrated. he didn't want to talk or did he...fuck he had no idea what he wanted to do. He wanted it all to fucking fuck off. And this was why he hadn't invested in emotion, in getting close to another person because it was all a load of...fuck. He stood still his body shaking from anger or shivering in the cold he wasn't sure which. He looked at his phone.

What do you want?. - SH

It won't go away until we talk about it, that's just the way it is. - JW

John looked around at his surroundings and thought he might try his luck at asking Sherlock to meet him. There was a cafe as a landmark not far off, and an alley where they might shout at each other for a bit without being disturbed. He texted the location to Sherlock and waited, anxiety building with each passing second.

Sherlock rubbed a hand against his face and sighed. He wanted this to go away but had an unpleasant feeling that if he saw John now the anger would get to much and he would say/do something he was bound to regret.  
He continued walking for a few moments before quickly turning back in the other direction toward where John had told him to meet him. His sighed and mumbled to himself as he turned a corner and saw John leaning against a wall.

John tried to prepare himself for this, to be able to talk it out, but something about the sight of Sherlock stalking over towards him, already glaring, just made the anger he had felt earlier flare up again. He didn't smile at Sherlock or say hi, he simply stood there looking him over until finally...

"All right. Out with it."

"Out with what?" He spat our practically seething. Just the sight of him standing there made something in him twist and burn. Sherlock was close enough to smell him now and he turn his face away as he caught the scent of her perfume.

"_You_ wanted to meet. _You_ wouldn't leave me alone and _you_ threatened me with Mycroft so say what you have to say so I can leave. Or...is it that you don't trust me. You think I'll do something stupid?"

He knew John would know what he was getting at, that it would upset John to have to even contemplate it but he just didn't care.

"Christ, calm the fuck down a minute - and you're already doing something stupid."

John's adrenaline spiked as he listened to Sherlock's irrational ranting and - oh, did he really just go there? John was losing his grip of civility fast.

"Did you really just taunt me - with that, of all things? Don't you dare. You say I'm the one having trust issues right now? - you're having a laugh. I'm not the one who is so transparently insecure that I can't handle my partner spending an hour with a normal person for a change."

Even as the words were spilling out of John's mouth, a part of his mind lit up saying that this was a fantastically terrible idea. But then there it was. Sherlock's face for a split second at the word 'normal' - though it quickly disappeared under his mask again - It was a horrible look and John had been the one to put it there. Something in him made him want to do it again.

Normal...and there it was in one word. He bared his teeth and growled the pure animal-ism of it shocking even himself. The volume of his voice was rising he wasn't quite shouting but it was close.

"Normal? Would you like me to be normal John, would that made you happy. You knew what you were getting into. How many people told you? warned you off. You should have listened."

His voice was shaking he had never been so completely consumed by anger before in his life and even now the hot white jealousy he had felt at the restaurant was only adding fuel to the fire. He wanted to bring John down and tear him apart so that he would realise how much he needed and belonged to Sherlock.

"I went there because it's true. Did you think you just owed me a favour 'I'll get Sherlock clean because he got rid of my ridiculous psychosomatic limp and then we'll be even.' I don't even know why I bothered if you were just going to use your new ability to move properly to run off with someone else."

John could hardly process the words he was hearing. His blood was hot and thrumming with adrenaline, absolutely seething from these accusations. He didn't think about his next action, it seemed to happen on it's own. John slapped him. Across the face, hard as he could.

"How - dare - you say something like that! To me, of all people. How dare you say that to me, and why? Why would you say that, you can't possibly - you would have to be insane to believe that. Absolutely mad - " John's hands were balled up into fists at his sides and he took a step closer to Sherlock, sneering. "Want you normal? It wouldn't be you anymore then, would it?"

"I thought that was the point." He hissed through gritted teeth. His body tensed as John moved closer preparing his body for whatever John was about to lay on him. He didn't care, he half wanted John to hit him again.

"I'm not leaving you, you idiot! Though god only knows why I don't, if I had any sense I would!"

John ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply.

"Jesus, you're a bastard. You can't ignore my existence for a week, oh, except when it's more convenient for you to insult me - you've gotten away with that bullshit all your life so far, Sherlock, but I won't have it, not like that. And you can't have some massive psychotic freakout when I take a break to interact with someone simply because they're not you! It was not. A. Date."

John punctuated his last point by taking a step forward, jabbing a finger into Sherlock's chest sharply. His voice had gone from shouting at the beginning and moving down into something colder and lower, his eyes still wild.

"Don't pretend you didn't know how this would be. You knew I would ignore you for days at a time, that I would insult you and shoot the wall and lie to you and run off. You knew all of that ALL of it. You didn't enter into this with false expectations John."

He turned away taking a few steps toward the road before turning back sharply. He wanted John to be angry, furious to shout at him, to make him feel like his anger was justified.

"Can't you understand? Or do you delight in being an idiot. I don't care if it wasn't a date. You shouldn't need other people. Your mine, I'm yours isn't that what you've been telling me. Or is that just the usual post-coital nonsense you've told everyone you deem worthy of a fuck."

"Good god - do you have any idea what you sound like? What you're saying? Loving someone and treating them like some - some prized possession are two totally, totally different things. Yes, I need other people in my life! I'm not like you, with some mad idea that I'm better off with one out of control obsession, meanwhile alienating everyone else around me, constantly!"

John, enraged and insulted, took a few long strides toward Sherlock, who was making to start walking away again, and yanked him back by the arm.

"I'm your lover, Sherlock, not your prisoner! Christ - "

Sherlock stumbled back slightly and ripped his arm away from John's grasp turning fast and pushing out at him the look of surprise on his face as he also stumbled slightly gave Sherlock a sense of hot satisfaction. He took a few steps closer grabbing hold of John's coat and slamming him hard against the alley wall. His voice was rough, quiet and dangerous. He wanted to scare John, to have him know what he was capable of and how dark of a place his mind really could be.

"Lover? Don't make me laugh. Is this love? Because if it is I don't want it, you can have it. You really have no idea do you - none whatsoever. And if I told you, I know you couldn't look at me the same way again. If i stood here and told you I want to cut you open and be inside of you, and know what your organs looked like because it makes me angry that they're hidden away. That's the kind of thing i'm not meant to say isn't it. That I'm jealous of your bones and skin and blood because they're more of a part of you than I will ever be. I'm not meant to say that either am I." He pushed John harder against the wall gritting his teeth.

John - saying he was stunned would not be doing it justice. Shocked, angrier than he'd ever been in his life, insulted, frightened by Sherlock's cold impassioned delivery and the full meaning behind his words that John wasn't sure would ever fully sink in, and yes - incredibly aroused by the rush of it all. The adrenaline and intensity of their fight had been one thing, but this threatened to tip over into something completely else, something unknown and darker than he had ever willingly looked at before. Though he still wanted to punch Sherlock in the face more than anything.  
He tried to push against Sherlock, to scratch at his grip on his arms. His mouth was open, panting hard, and his eyes were glaring up at Sherlock's horrible, terrifying face, unwavering.

"Sherlock."

"Do you understand now John, You're always telling me I need to open up, well there you go."

Sherlock smirked at him the look of terror on his face sent pulses of pleasure right through his body and it didn't bother him. He knew how wrong he was, how twisted and abnormal. He let his hands drop and took a few steps back his arms open in some sort of strange offering.

"Just do it John, don't just stand there with that ridiculous look of horror on you're face. just DO SOMETHING. Hit me, run away, knock me down, i'll take it." He was almost laughing and his face was manic. His control was sliding and he just needed a reaction. "DO SOMETHING."

"Fuck you." And like that, something in John snapped. He lunged forward, his left fist connecting squarely with Sherlock's jaw, and his fist was meeting his face for the second time before he had even decided what to do. He  
was growling, unleashed like an animal on Sherlock and as they collided in the alley, toppling over each other, both grappling for a stronghold, John didn't know which parts of them were which, but he kept striking out at whatever he could reach.

"Fuck you."

He said it again and again into Sherlock's ear before biting down on it in a fashion he had done dozens of times before, and yet, not at all like this - not with that much force or raw hurt feeling behind it.

Sherlock felt John's fist connect with his face the pain was sharper than he had expected and the force behind it elated him. Finally he thought. Give me everything. He pushed out but just a little too late, John's first had hit him again and the next thing he knew John had slammed into him and they had fallen backward. He had no time to try and co-ordinate a landing and his back crashed painfully against the ground. He growled his arm swinging under to punch against John's stomach momentarily winding him. He felt John's word being growled against his ear and the hard bite on his ear lobe, he hissed, trying to kick out but his legs were trapped.

"You keep saying that John. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Why don't you just fucking do something about it."

He pushed up against the ground but he couldn't move, John had the upper hand, and he hadn't counted on this but he was still pushing it. Christ, what was wrong with him. He let out a laugh.

"You've never had the nerve to just take what you wanted."

Somehow, John freed a hand long enough to slap him again.

"Shut up! You don't care what I want, have you ever? I want you to care about something other than yourself for once, this isn't even about me, not really, or you 'caring' for me anymore, it's about you needing to be a freak - "

John crashed his mouth on top of Sherlock's and it wasn't a kiss, not really, not with that much blood in it. He anger was ugly and blinding, this absolute loss of control. He grabbed a handful of Sherlock's hair, yanking forcefully upwards only to knock his head against the ground.

"You're fucking insane." He growled out, shoving his hips down against Sherlock's, grinding against him.

"Yes John, I'm a freak. I'm selfish and I'm twisted."

He didn't know which one of them was bleeding and he didn't care, he could taste the tang of it against his tongue and it only made him harder and more aroused. He bit down hard against John's bottom lip feeling his teeth break the skin, dribbles of blood dropping into his mouth he lapped at it, addicted. His head was forced back hitting the hard ground and he grunted at the pain disorientating him for a moment before he was brought sharply back by John's hardness grinding against him.

"If I'm such a freak and this is all about me then why..." He reached a hand down roughly cupping John through his jeans. "Are you so fucking hard for me?"

"The fuck if I know!"

John hissed at the feeling of Sherlock's hand on him, rocking his hips down against him, back and forth.

"And the only reason you're not face down, bare assed in the dirt of this alley yet is that I keep thinking it might be more worthwhile to strangle you instead. That's the sick shit you want to make me say, isn't it, you twisted fuck."

He leaned down to press their faces together again, but Sherlock bit him and he jerked away, slapping him again, and again.

"But that's what you like, isn't it, that's all you want me for, why you keep needling and picking at it."

He whimpered as John's hand collided with his face over and over. The pain was so thrilling so overwhelming that his hips were bucking up now rubbing against John's. And he had gotten what he wanted John had broken, become raw and out of control and for a second he panicked considering the consequences. How would they come back from this? His voice became quieter and John let up on his face.

"John..."

"Don't you dare 'John' me - you've had enough now, is that it? You got what you wanted?"

John was breathing hard, his heart pounding, his thoughts all erratic. He could smell blood and the desert. He couldn't feel the stinging in his palms or his knees or his ribs, or the pain from his split knuckles. He could feel the irritating and not-so-gratifying rub of rough fabric between his legs, but even more than that he felt an intense hatred and shame of himself in this moment, and for Sherlock too.

"You've used me to see what it's like and I hate you for doing this to me, for me it isn't over. Can you even feel sorry?"

He stopped rocking against him and just looked down, holding onto Sherlock's wrists tightly, far too tight. He began to shake all over, blinking rapidly  
Sherlock swallowed hard. Yes it was his fault and he was a disgustingly terrible human being. And he wished he knew what John wanted because he would do it. If John wanted to beat him he would lay there and take it, if he wanted Sherlock begging for forgiveness he wouldn't hesitate. But he had no idea, no idea what to do. But he knew he couldn't run away from this. His face was aching from the abuse but it was nowhere near how badly his heart was hurting, like it was ripped open inside his chest and he was slowly bleeding out.

"I'd lay here and let you destroy me if that's what you wanted. I wouldn't hesitate for a second. I'd even enjoy it because it was coming from you. And i'm sick in love and twisted in love and I can't change that."

"Shut up, shut up, you sick son of a bitch. I don't want to destroy you, I don't want to destroy anyone. "

John felt - hollow and blank, but no, that's not right. There was plenty of anger and shame in there. Exhaustion of every kind. A great sadness. All of him shook above Sherlock, his body over flooded with adrenaline and now coming down off of it, crashing further than he had ever been before. He blinked and looked - not at Sherlock, he couldn't quite see him, so he just looked down through him.

"Just right now I'd say myself, but you - you've taken care of that nicely."

John released his grip on Sherlock - of his wrists, of his legs beneath him - and slowly lowered his shaking self down on top of him, clutching at his coat.

"I just want you to leave me alone. But you can't do that."

Sherlock's eyes were wide he had always been self destructive set on a path to his own demise. But this...this was too much to far and if John left. Or was that it. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady and spoke words he never thought he would.

"If you walk away now. If you want to go. I won't stop you, I won't follow or try and find you."

John's bitter laugh came out far too much like a sob, and he found that once he started, he couldn't stop and waves of it wracked his body. His bleeding hands tightened in the lapels of Sherlock's coat and he buried his face against his chest. He wished he could be anywhere but here. He sniffed loudly, but didn't make a move to get up

"How - how could you love me this way? Why? I don't want to be here anymore."

He tried, with little success, to curl in on himself, still lying on top of Sherlock. It was - incredibly uncomfortable, he realized, and at least that bit of sense had come back to him.

"I want to go home."

Sherlock was shaking, he realised how cold it was, how damp the ground was. He looked up at John, his expression so broken and defeated and he felt hot warm tears prick the corner of his eyes. He blinked them away. He didn't deserve to feel his own despair not after this.

"Do you want me to come with you. Do you want me to take you home?"

"Sh - get me away from here, Sherlock."

John coughed and when he did, the pain in his ribcage shot through his middle, startling him - actual, physical pain, that is. He brought a hand up to his chest and belatedly wondered if he had a few cracked ribs. He forced himself to take a deep gasp of air and figured possibly not, maybe it was just bad bruising. He was then aware of Sherlock trying to - do something, he didn't know what, so he finally forced himself to roll over, sprawling out on the pavement and looking up.

Sherlock was desperately trying to get up, to give John some sort of comfort and get him away from this hell he had created but the pressure of John's body on his knees was too much. His body ached all over and his face was practically pounding, he had no idea what he looked like and was glad John probably couldn't see how bad the damage was due to the lack of light.

"John, I'll take you home, I promise I'll get you away from here but you have to let me up."

He felt John roll off him and struggled onto his knees sharp pains shooting all through his body. He took a moment before he stood reaching out for John's hand and tugging at it.

"Come on..."

John looked down at the hand over his as if surprised by it, then glared up at Sherlock and shoved it away, disgusted.

"Just because I'm going home with you doesn't mean I'm going home _with_ you."

He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind, to feel all of his body, to remember the ground and how to right himself. He stood up slowly, shakily, and that wasn't bad. He took a step forward and swayed a bit, reaching a hand out for Sherlock in spite of himself and leaned against him.

"Well. Forward march."

Sherlock didn't utter a word as they walked slowly toward Baker Street. John was stumbling along beside him resting against his shoulder for support. he couldn't rid his mind of the look of complete disgust on John's face when Sherlock has offered him his hand. Sherlock was having trouble contemplating the idea of being alone again no idea how he would function or survive without John. Perhaps he would just simply cease to be. They turned the corner to Baker Street and reached the door he fumbled for his pockets and slid the key into the lock helping John with the stairs. The stumbled together into the living from and the silence was painful.

The walk home took far too long, took forever. He got through it by resolutely putting one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the pain he was in and the way Sherlock kept looking at him when he thought John wouldn't notice. Finally, they had made it home, and he shuffled into the living room.

"Thank god." He found his way over to the sofa and sat down gratefully, carefully, and with a grimace he leaned over to switch on the lamp.

It was in this dim light that he looked over to Sherlock, standing in the middle of the living room, looking lost and looking beaten, in more ways than one, covered in bruises and blood and dirt.

"Christ, you look terrible."

Sherlock brought a hand up to his face feeling it gingerly. He didn't care he deserved it. He could feel his lips were swollen and bloody he could only imagine what the rest of him looked like. He looked down at himself covered in dirt and damp, his clothing practically destroyed.

"It's my own fault. Don't lose sleep over it."

He looked away, he could hardly bear the shame of it, the look of John's face, after everything there was still concern in his eyes. Just the doctor in him, Sherlock thought. He'll never want you again not now.

"Don't worry. I won't."

His voice was cold and alien to him, and instead of looking at Sherlock, he busied himself with trying to shrug off his coat and take off his shoes. All of his things were wet and covered in dirt and blood. He hissed when he leaned down to slip off his shoes and sat back carefully with his eyes closed. He started to think about Sherlock's injuries as well, force of habit, but then he was trying to remember where he had hit him the hardest, and well. That wasn't a road he was willing to go down yet. When he spoke, he sounded slightly more himself, but still off, still colder than he cared to be.

"Come here."

Sherlock paused for a moment. When he touches you make the most of it. Because it's unlikely to happen again because you went and broke everything beyond repair. He nodded more to himself than to John and padded over to him falling slowly to his knees trying not to let the pain show on his face. He wanted to know what John was thinking, he needed to hear the words 'I'm leaving you' He needed to be obliterated by it.

"You're going to leave aren't you?"

"What are you -"

John looked on in confusion as Sherlock approached him like a man heading to the gallows and bowed before him on his knees. He had meant for Sherlock to come sit next to him on the sofa... He sighed, always so dramatic. His hand was reaching for the side of Sherlock's face before even he knew what he was doing. He let it rest there against the bruised, dirtied skin.

"I'm not sorry."

And he wasn't. But he wanted to be, god how he wanted to be, and that was fucked up. He blinked a few times, the air around them full of static, and realised he hadn't yet addressed Sherlock's question.

He closed his eyes against John's touch, it stung but at least he wasn't flinching away. He didn't want John to be sorry the complete weight of what he had done was crashing down on him, it was almost suffocating. He felt his headspinning and reached out for something to steady himself his hand finding John's knee, he let go of it quickly not wanting to force contact upon him and just let him body slump to the side. Too much. This was too much.

"I'm sorry." And he needed to say it, all of it because he thought he might not get another chance.

"I'm so sorry, I pushed and pushed and I was so wrong and i've broken everything. I'm selfish and disgusting. You don't deserve this, you deserve to be happy and if you have to leave to be happy then i'll let you go. Because I can feel John. You. Just you."

John breathed slowly, closing his eyes and letting Sherlock's words wash over him and knock around in his swollen head. He vaguely wished he had a recording of this, to play it over and over, to listen carefully. He swallowed, the movement difficult, and cleared his throat

"You mean that, don't you. You would really let me leave."

He opened his eyes to look at Sherlock, slumped over and pathetic, but as sincere as John had ever seen him. Every part of him ached, and he reached his hand out to Sherlock, it hanging in the air between them.

"Come up here."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, anything you need."

His head was almost screaming, but please, please don't go. I'll try harder, I'll be better I promise god please don't leave me here alone. But he knew that wasn't right. He wanted John to be happy, it was more important than his needs and wants more important than anything else that had ever or would ever exist.

Sherlock leaned up at John's words, taking the hand which he was offered and allowed himself to be guided up onto the sofa.

"Fuck, you always make things so damn complicated."

John exhaled and closed his eyes, leaning into the back of the sofa and tilting his head sideways, moving toward him until John's head touched his shoulder.

"I don't want to leave you. I don't even want to throttle you anymore, though it may just be that I'm too sore and tired to try."

"To try and throttle me... or to try and leave?"

His heart beat elevated as he heard John's words and felt his touch. If by some miracle he hadn't lost this perfect man how the hell was he meant to make this up to him? He didn't even want to consider the options not until John had slept. In the morning when all the emotion had been flushed out and all he had were plain facts staying with Sherlock may seem impossible. He shuddered.

John bit his lip to keep from making a sarcastic remark - and didn't know why he bothered because that really hurt. He made a pained sound and dropped his hand down to lightly grasp Sherlock's arm.

"I am really, really pissed off at you. And probably will be for quite some time. But I still want to turn down the covers and go to sleep in our bed. Can you fucking believe that?"

He couldn't quite believe it himself, and yet of course he could. He didn't know where to go from here, didn't know where he stood with Sherlock, all he knew was that he didn't want to go away, not permanently, though he had every right too, and if he had any sense...

Sherlock looked up a little alarmed by the sound John made. His lips was bleeding again he reached up slowly to touch it. Horrified that it had been him that had done.

"Fuck. I am so - " He snapped his hand back and stood up. This was all wrong John sitting there, in pain, bleeding. Because of him. His voice was quiet and broken.

"You...you can't stay. You have to go. This can't - I won't..." He shook his head he couldn't even think coherently, backing away from John his eyes wide with horror and realisation of exactly what he had done, what he was capable of.

"Sherlock... Calm down. Just - stop this. You're not going to throw me out, not tonight. We've been through enough today, haven't we?"

He stayed sat on the sofa, looking up at Sherlock with tired eyes, trying to stay calm but growing more anxious - maybe Sherlock was right. But surely not. But maybe... from every angle he could look at it and every way forward he could see, this was going to hurt. He didn't know which path to choose

Sherlock was stuck. He wanted to turn around and run away as fast as he could and do something terrible and risky and dangerous but at the same time he wanted to fall forward. To lean down and kiss John and see what would happen. To see if it still felt right. He padded forward kneeling on the sofa and reaching a hand up to guide John's face gently toward his own stopping it only inches apart.

"John... I need to know..."

He closed his eyes and as lightly as he could managed rest his bruised lips against John's bleeding ones. He remained like that for as long as he dared before moving away not brave enough to open his eyes.

John watched him warily and stayed very, very still on the sofa, not even daring to breath. And then there Sherlock was, so so close to him, tilting up his face for him. John braced himself for a sting, or for something far worse, but it didn't even hurt - Sherlock's touch against his lips was that light, and as he pulled away, damn him, John leaned forward an inch or two, trying to follow him, eyes shut until he realized it was over.

"Go ahead and open them."

Slowly and a little painfully Sherlock opened his eyes slightly shocked that he hadn't been pushed away or told to get off. He half wished he hadn't kissed John. Because it was still the same, if anything it was more. His heart still swelled inside of his chest and ached and his skin still wanted to melt against the touch and after that he didn't know how he would ever be able to let him go.

"We're a proper mess, aren't we."

John was inwardly cursing himself and cursing Sherlock for this. How on earth he felt more promise in a bruised, bloody, barely there, no good excuse for a kiss than he felt at the idea of walking out that door and into the rest of the world, a mundane normal world waiting just for him, he would never know. So. He cursed under his breath and reached his hand out toward Sherlock, unsure of just what he was reaching for, exactly, but knowing it would do. Sherlock's face fell against John's offered hand rubbing up against it almost cat like. And John was right, they were a mess. What had he even been thinking. He wanted to blame the case, the lack of food and sleep but he couldn't. He was to blame and he had to accept that.

"I wish I could show you - kiss you like you deserve, but I don't want to hurt you anymore..."

"I've had - "

And he stopped himself there, because maybe he hadn't had worse. And he really needed to stop thinking those sorts of things if he was ever going to forgive Sherlock. But that would take time, he knew, but it was still time that they were still together, combustible but still inseparable.

"Don't push your luck, but... I think I can survive a bloody kiss."

John held Sherlock's face and pulled him closer, concerned about digging into his bruises but not concerned enough to stop and fret over them. He pressed their lips together, more firmly this time, and closed his eyes, his heart jumping.

Sherlock winced at John's words. Worse than having one of the only people he trusted force him into fighting until they were both battered in a darkened alley, no he didn't think so. And then he felt John grip his face the bruises aching slightly against the touch but feeling so good and solid and real at the same time. When their lips touched it was like fire and rain. All the hurt and pleasure driving the kiss. The knowledge that it was so wrong that both of them were still here and still able to do this. He wrapped his arms gently around John's body slowly allowing him time to say no, wondering if he was indeed pushing his luck.

John sighed softly against Sherlock's swollen mouth and pressed his body forward into the touch. He ran his hands up Sherlock's arms to his shoulders and across his chest, down his sides and to his waist. He pulled back his lips and kissed along a colorful jaw, tasting dirt.

"I shouldn't still want it..."

Sherlock hummed against his touch the want for more almost overpowering. A battle inside him raging. The hate he felt for himself for what he had done and the need to have John to make him feel that hot pleasure. He wanted to be with him in that way so he could give him something to cut out the pain.

"What do you want John? Let me give it to you."

John cursed under his breath and pulled his mouth away, looking down between them. Fuck, this was so... but he wanted it so bad. He really did, to somehow find some peace and comfort in this, after everything. He needed a different release.

"Take me to bed, Sherlock, help me forget it."

Sherlock shuffled off of the sofa and stood up reaching out his hand for John to take it and guiding him slowly toward the room they shared. His voice was soft and calming and he sat John down onto the bed and placed a hand on his shoulder to still him.

"Let me do this for you." Slowly and lovingly Sherlock undone each one of Johns shirt buttons and carefully slid it from his shoulders and onto the floor. Then he reached up and placed a kiss onto the curve of his neck and down along his chest to his navel.

He rested on his knees against his heals and carefully removed John's muddied jeans letting his fingers trace the cool skin of John's thighs as he went, laying kissing between his finger tips.

John felt in a daze, everything going hazy around him as heat blossomed all through him from the inside out at the feeling of Sherlock's focus centered on him entirely like this. His head fell back and he blinked, unseeing, up at the ceiling, finally at the cusp of feeling something good, really good.

"More of that, yes please..."

Sherlock smiled lightly and nuzzled against John's skin as he finally managed to discard the jeans. He kissed his way up along to John's inner thigh, licking and kissing at the more sensitive skin. He reached a long pales finger up to trace the lines in John's underwear where his already hardening cock was pushing against them.

"I'm going to make you feel so good."

John leaned back on his elbows, eyes closed, and spread his legs further apart. His jeans had only just hit the floor, Sherlock was still clothed and already he was feeling dizzy. His cock twitched, interested, and he let out a soft sigh of a moan at Sherlock's words, at his promise, at the mere sound of his incredible voice. He reached a hand down between them, smoothing it over Sherlock's own hand placed on his thigh before running it back up himself, over his own chest and back down on the bed.

He knelt up letting his kisses run over the cloth of John's underwear, pressing his lips against John's growing erection. He nuzzled against it breathing in the musky smell just unadulterated John. He flattened his tongue against John's shorts letting the wetness and the heat soak through teasing at his cock.

"Tell me John, tell me what you want..." He wanted to fall to John, to give him everything and make sure he did it right. It wasn't about him. Just John.

John's hips twitched up, missing his teases and loving his voice, loving him like this and the way it made him feel

"More, more of this. I want all you can give me, Sherlock. Touch me."

Sherlock gently tugged against John's shorts dragging them down his legs following them with a trail kisses until they joined John's jeans on the floor. He looker up from where he knelt at John's beautifully hard cock and he would have been happy to kneel their and worship it. He reached a hand up curling his fingers around it and pulling on it slowly, sliding his thumb gently over the tip. He raised himself up on his knees and dipped down to lap lazily at the tip of John's already dripping cock the taste of his was dizzying.

"Oh my fucking god, Sherlock."

Finally there was that touch, and god, that tongue so hot and sliding around him. It was electrifying and no one else ever did this to him, could make his toes start curling before they'd hardly even begun. He opened his eyes and looked down at the sight of this, moaning low and long. He reached a hand out to gently pet at Sherlock's hair encouragingly, but not tugging or pulling at his scalp.

"Oh, yes. No one does it like you."

Sherlock smiled against John's hardness filled with pleasure and happiness by John's reactions. He let his tongue slide from the tip to the base of John's cock and back up sucking softly against the head before taking John into his mouth, he tightened his lips and began to move using his hand to increase John's pleasure. He took John right to the back of his throat concentrating to control his gag reflex. He looked up at John, his eyes wide almost watering and his mouth full of his cock.

"Oh, you're so, so beautiful - fuck"

John didn't even want to blink, it was so perfect. And maybe it was a little cruel, the sight of Sherlock's battered face before him, his bruised and already swollen lips stretching around his cock. It felt glorious, to be taken in that deep, but for Sherlock it had to hurt him, his jaw, his mouth, and the thought sent John's hips bucking up in spite of himself. He didn't bother feeling bad about it now.

"My, how determined you are. I know it hurts, I bet you're loving it too, hm?"

Sherlock couldn't speak, he wasn't willing enough to remove John's beautiful cock from his desperate mouth. but John knew him to well. It hurt but he didn't care he liked the punishing feel. And John knew Sherlock loved him talking like that. He moaned and it came out simply as a vibration within his throat. He answered John by forcing his mouth a little further onto his cock, saliva now trickling from the corners of his mouth. He pulled back up grazing his teeth slightly over John's tip before pushing himself down again and deep as his throat would allow. he repeated the movements slowly at first and then faster his eyes never looking away from John's face.

"Oh, how desperate you are for it, yes, more."

It was getting harder to breathe and soon John was panting, at the mercy of Sherlock's mouth around him. He knew his face would be flushed, the redness spreading out, down his neck, even to the top of his chest. A thin sheen of sweat was breaking out over his skin, and his hips were jerking of their own accord more frequently, and Sherlock just took it, not so much as batting an eye. "

Look how gorgeous you are, you were made for this, for sucking my cock, just mine. Loving it when you shouldn't, when it hurts."

Sherlock tried to answer John using only his eyes, trying to put a lot of things into that look hoping John may grasp at a few of them He was saying, Fuck yes, you're cock was made to be in my mouth, All I want is for you to be happy, I don't ever want to hurt you again and I love you. He added a little more pressure with the hand following the movements of his mouth sliding up and down John's cock, his movements becoming quicker still and with his other hand he reached for Johns hand and placed it onto his head wrapping it in his curls, he wanted John to know he didn't need to hold back or even ask. He could just take what he wanted.

John's head fell back as he moaned, low and gravelly at Sherlock's quicker, wetter, hotter movements, the way he placed John's hand to the back of his head, the look in his eye. It was getting to be far, far too much for him to take much longer, though he wanted it to last foreverL

"Fuck I fucking love you too, your mouth, everything you, you, you. You incredible bastard, look what you do to me."

John burned through and through, grabbing at the back of Sherlock's head and taking advantage of it, his hips thrusting up into his mouth, fucking him like that.

It wasn't that much longer before it was too much, too intense - his body had been through so much that day, as had his mind, but in those moments, he wasn't thinking about that. He didn't have to. There was just that raw need, the yearning for release that burned through him and then it overtook him, his muscles tensing, toes curling and all as he called out Sherlock's name and came in that wonderful, sore mouth.

Sherlock swallowed him down hungrily, the hot bitter taste of Johns seamen warming his throat and burning slightly at his swollen lip. He stayed against John until his body still and gently slide his mouth of of John cock planting one final kiss on the tip. He pulled himself up on hand around John's waist trying to guide him onto the bed. Sherlock kicked of his trousers and got out of his shirt quickly. All he wanted no was to lay close to John and feel the steady rhythm of his breathing as he slept.

John felt exhausted and ached everywhere - mostly in good ways, for now, though he would be sore as all hell in the morning. He was still catching his breath when Sherlock got into bed next to him, drawing the blanket over the two of them, and he scooted himself closer, leaning in for one last kiss.

He draped his arm over his body and settled in, feeling - content for the most part, all things considered... He opened his mouth and closed it again, thinking better of bringing any of that up until a good many hours spent in bed had gone by, so he settled for something else as he nuzzled his face against that pale chest.

"Mm, Sherlock? I get first shower in the morning."

He pressed a kiss to that skin and just... closed his eyes.


	2. Lab Rats

**Porn. Porn. Porn. Really. That's all you will find here. Filthy. Filthy. Porn.**

John lent against the closed door to the lab room for several minute longer. Sherlock was hunched over one of the microscopes, occasionally messing with his phone but for the most part totally absorbed in focusing on slides for now while John was fairly content for just the moment to focus on him. As a general rule John tried not to disturb him too much when he was working or occupied though that didn't mean there weren't plenty of times when he just couldn't help himself anyway. He tossed his empty styrofoam cup in the bin and pushed off from the door, soon pressing his chest into Sherlock's back without hesitation, wrapping his arms about his middle, giving Sherlock a squeeze and the bell of a stethoscope he had picked up while wandering around pressed into Sherlock's back too from where it hung around John's neck. John nuzzled his face into a side of pale neck, breathing in his scent mixed with the sharp sterile smell of this part of Bart's before resting his chin atop Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock had been working steadily for a while now, identifying pollen molecules from different postcodes through out the country. He had a pretty strong idea of how the crime he was investigating had taken place but there was really nothing quite like cold hard evidence. He felt at his best here, the cool sterile lab conditions, the harsh lighting and sleek surfaces - no where near perfect conditions but as good as he could manage with what was available to him. He hardly noticed the time, or that John had returned from...wherever he had been. He felt a twinge of guilt as John's arms wrapped around him and his constantly warm skin pressed into his expose cool neck just above his open shirt collar. He leaned into it, turning his head to press a kiss onto John's temple. He frowned for a moment, deducing the hard lump between them - chest piece of a stethoscope. He spoke quietly, the sounds muffled by John's hair as he nuzzled into it.

"Something wrong Doctor?"

He paused, closing his eyes as one of John's fingers slipped through a gap between the buttons of his shirt, stroking purposefully over the small amount of skin he could reach.

"I'm almost done, I'm sorry - I've been neglecting you."

John sighed as he felt Sherlock's warm breath in his hair and the soft press of his lips, minimal touches that had no right to thrill him as much as they did anyway. He tilted his head, kissing soft skin just under the ear and inching down to mouth over Sherlock's strong pulse. John bit his own lip for a moment, this being probably not the best of times but he'd definitely hear about it if his advances were untimely or unwanted... Surely the urgent pollen wouldn't mind. He deftly undid two buttons of the middle of Sherlock's shirt, John's hand eagerly slipping in just to feel more of him, his warmth, the slight quiver of muscles under his hand.  
John hummed pleasantly as his fingers stroked along the inside of his shirt.

"Nothing wrong, not counting your clothes. How do you make everything you do so sexy anyway."

Sherlock finally let go of the sight of the microscope, his hands falling deftly to his sides as he pressed his body back into John's, pressing them close as John's fingers working into the widening gap he had made in his shirt. He saw his clothes as one of the few indulgences he allowed himself, and though he enjoyed the touch of the silk or soft cotton on his skin he appreciated the loosening of his shirt - and the small, attentive touches being bestowed on him. He pushed a hand backward, grappling with John's hips to find his way up the loose cotton jumper, rucking it up as he went, his own long fingers scratching awkwardly over John's navel. He began nudging at John's cheek with his nose and forehead insistently to maneuver him so their lips could meet. The kiss was indulgent and languorous his tongue exploring the soft lines of John's mouth and the small hint of coffee and gum as the other man's tongue came out to meet his own.

John inhaled at the touch spreading over his skin under his shirt, Sherlock's fingers were cool on his skin but on the inside he tingled with warmth. He licked over the steady pulse and dragged his lips along Sherlock's jaw until finally meeting his mouth, kissing slow and enjoying the smooth wet glide over his lips before John had to taste for himself. He sucked Sherlock's tongue into his mouth, playfully writhing and pushing against him. He fluttered his eyes open, catching a glimpse of Sherlock's closed eyes, the concentration all on him. He shuffled himself a bit, tugging Sherlock as well so they could meet front to front.

Sherlock turned with John's guidance, doing all he could to maintain the kiss - it always struck him in moments like this how much he missed the contact of John's mouth, hands, just the small touches that may not even be particularly sexual after he had been working, even for only a few hours. Playfully, he tugged at the tubing of the stethoscope John had apparently poached from somewhere in the lab. Lazily he sucked John's bottom lip into his mouth, fretting it between his teeth taking it with him as far as he could before slipped away. With no intention of stopping his administrations he hastened his hands to John's hips, spreading his legs to pull John in between them before wrapping them around him, trapping him with his locked ankles.

"Got you."

John emitted a quiet groan as he felt the long pull of his bottom lip before he was pulled in close, encased in the trappings of Sherlock and never more pleased to be taken captive.

"Damn, so you have... "

He ran his palms over the smooth fabric of his thighs, smoothing up to slip any remaining shirt buttons from their holes from the bottom up, pushing the expensive cloth over Sherlock's shoulders once he reached the top, grinning as it fell to the floor. John slid the stethoscope from around his neck, fitting Sherlock with the headset before quickly tearing his jumper over his head, dropping it instantly before bringing the bell end to his own chest, breathing normally and moving the cool plastic over his skin until it rested over his beating heart, pace quickened by interest but not yet as rapid as it would get to be.

Sherlock surveyed John as he undressed them, taken a back as ever by the sight of John's exposed torso, even after all this time it was enough to make his heart pound against the confines of his chest, and it only beat harder as John dragged the stethoscope over his own skin, concentrating on the rhythm of his heart - giving Sherlock a rather devious idea. Swiftly removing the earpieces from John, he placed them into his own ears listening to the faster than average yet steady beating, and with the other he dipped a few fingers under the waist of John's jean's, hardly far enough to reach the start of wiry hair smiling at his doctor as he could solidly hear the thrumming of his heart and at the same time it was also his own. He had no explanation as to why he hadn't thought of this before, because this was the reason John walked and spoke and loved, the reason his sweet blood was pushed around the veins and arteries intricately running under his skin, the sound of it increasing making Sherlock moan aloud. Despite how nonsexual the act may have seemed from the outside it was making Sherlock incredibly hard.

"Can hear you - so strong, solid. Mine."

John could feel himself growing harder even just from the small touches traveling further south on his skin, from the piercing eyes roaming over him, the feeling smouldering over his skin at being the sole focus of Sherlock's attention, to be examined by him in this way and still get such a response, neither one ever growing bored of the other like this. He smiled lightly, a little breathless and a little devious as his hand played over his own chest and down to meet Sherlock's fingers working to undo his jeans and slip them down.

"All yours, Sherlock." He spoke purposefully, knowing Sherlock would hear and feel his own name rumble through John's chest.

"….Want you."

The vibrations of John's words traveled through the tubing of the scope and straight to his brain, that was just science - but he could hardly explain why it then seemed to have a direct line to his groin, his cock straining angrily, caged within his too tight trousers. His eyes fell from John's and down to watch him slip out of his jeans, revealing the small wet stain where his cock was obviously just as eager as Sherlock's to be release, to receive all the attention his deserved. John's heart played a heavy bass line in his ears and his fingers slipped past the elastic of the cotton shorts, stroking slow lines over John's hardness as in curved in his underwear trailing up right to the tip slipping between skin and fabric to massage the head and collect the precome - because it would be such a crime to waste it. Purposefully he brought his come slick fingers up to his mouth, hovering over his lips for a short while, changing his mind in a second and forcing them into John's parted lips, instantly John was applying suction, swirling his tongue and taking him in deep - it brought up an array of images, of John on his knees and instead of Sherlock's long fingers, it was his hard cock. He groaned, taking his other hand and wasting no more time as he tugged down John's shorts and applied quick, short thrusts listening intently to the changes of John's pulse throbbing like fire in his ears.

John moaned softly as he felt fingertips tracing the outline of his hard cock through his shorts and he swayed forward trying to find more of that, so needy to be out and touched. His breath stuttered as a finger rubbed over the sensitive head of his cock, making him twitch as it slicked over his slit through drops of precome. His eyes snapped open and he watched intently as Sherlock leaned in, so close at having the taste of John explode over his tongue before he looked up suddenly and before John knew it, he was moaning louder, turned on so much further by Sherlock forcing his fingers in between John's lips, with no choice but to taste himself and his eyes fluttered shut as he sucked with wanting Sherlock's gorgeous cock in his mouth, hot heavy and wet sliding past his lips, filling his senses while Sherlock thrust into his mouth and called his name. The quick squeeze and immediate tugs over John's cock caught him off guard he was so wrapped up in sucking off Sherlock's hand and his hips thrust forward into the touch, greedily taking it again and again as he groaned. He felt a strong grip digging into the side of his hip and Sherlock's touch loosened over him, bringing him back to the present before he got too lost in pleasure. He pushed at Sherlock's arm, fingers slipping out of his mouth, leaving a damp trail over his chin before he yanked Sherlock up and out of his seat to shove him against the table and claw at his trousers, taking longer than he would like but he couldn't help himself from shoving their mouths together, forcing his tongue past Sherlock's lips so he could taste remnants of John on himself.

Sherlock watched entranced as his fingers came out of John's mouth, leaving a glistening streak of saliva over the other man's chin he dove forward licking over it and pushing his tongue hard and deep into John's mouth, not kissing purely tasting, drinking him up, it felt so dirty plundering into John's wide open mouth shoving his tongue as deep as he could manage and he only just registered the dull pain of his back colliding with the desk behind him. Reluctantly his tongue slipped from John's lips but only for a moment as John was grappling with his trousers and kissing into him, more mutual now but still just as hard and needy. He helped John a long freeing his hands to tug at the zipper and push them down, kicking them off along with his shoes. In no time at all his hands were everywhere he could reach, scratching and running over John's back and down to the curve of his ass. They pulled apart, drawing in rough laboured breaths as they looked at each other the now loose tube and bell of the stethoscope hanging between them and if it didn't sound overly romantic Sherlock would have said time had slowed for them in the time they spent, breathing out of time - taking each other in. Sherlock tilted his head, his upper body moving forward so he could suck on John's ear lobe and whisper breathy words into his ear.

"Can you see John? How fucking hard I am for you?"

He took a hold of one of John's hands placing it over the large bulge in his boxers, the touch, even though he expected it made him gasp.

"Can you feel it? Straining for you, dripping for you - How do you do it?"

He squeezed his hand over John's and in turn the grip on his cock tightened.

"Make me so needy, take me apart."

The wet suction over the sensitive skin of his earlobe and the sultry lustful voice hot in his ear made John shiver as he gladly let himself be guided to take a handful of cock, needy and straining through hateful fabric keeping them apart.

"I see - "

He gave his hand a squeeze, pleased at just how simply he could make Sherlock gasp like that each time he did it. He thumbed over the darkened stain of his shorts, massaging the head through thin cotton, making Sherlock gasp for him again.

"Fucking love you, your cock, your come. Want it all over me."

He slid his hand up, fingers tipping over the waistband and he dragged Sherlock's underwear down around his thighs, mesmerized as Sherlock's cock was finally revealed to him and he - he needed to taste it. He dropped down quickly, clutching Sherlock's thigh in one hand and petting through the line of wiry black hair below his navel with the other as he slid his lips and the tip of his tongue in one long drag from base to tip. He made sure to look up as he licked his lips, not forsaking a drop of precome smeared there, so good, before greedily sucking the head into his mouth, tongue swirling and pressing to explore every part of extra sensitive skin. His nostrils were full of heady scent and it seemed as if each of his taste buds were coated in nothing but Sherlock, not needing to taste anything else again as he pushed forward, taking more cock in his mouth and hearing the obscene wet sucking sounds mix with Sherlock's gasps and moans in the room.

"God yes, you look so good covered in my come, staining your skin filling you up anywhere I can so it's dripping out of your every fucking orifice so I can eat it from you..."

His own words were driving him crazy, the images vivid in his mind of John so used, so debauched from pleasing him. He had to struggle to keep his eyes open as John dropped to his knees before him, no matter how many time he saw it. It

was still as good as that first time, the want and anticipation hitting him like a physical force. Before he managed another thought John's tongue was being dragged over his erection and then he was in John's mouth, being sucked and tasted. He forced himself to looked down, John's wide eyes blackened by his dilated pupils looking up so innocently, but Sherlock knew what that nasty mouth was capable of and John gave him clear evidence as he used all his skill to administer more pleasure than Sherlock could think possible. It was a struggle to keep his hips still, so tempted to simply fuck roughly into his lovers mouth and take everything he had, but he was already so close torn in two, half loving it, half hating the idea that it might be over so soon. His hands gripped tightly on John's shoulder and he had lost control of his fingers, as they contracted on the skin leaving indents where his nails were close to tearing it.

John bobbing his head to suck Sherlock in and out of his mouth over and over before slowing and concentrating to bring the tip of that throbbing cock to the very back of his throat, feeling it pushing against him until Sherlock was a shaking mess in front of him, both of them digging their nails into each other. It could happen soon, he could tell, but John had been listening and he wanted more, the thought of what was now in his mind enough to make him pull back until Sherlock's cock slipped from his mouth. He was panting hard, eyes slightly watered, lips red and swollen, and he was totally flushed. He spoke as he rose back up again.

"Fuck, taste yourself in my mouth - "

He quickly sealing his mouth over Sherlock's, fighting the need to pull away and catch his breath. He trapped Sherlock against the table with his body once more as he pressed forward, needily rutting up against Sherlock's thigh, his cock hard and desperate for anything.

"I want it, what you said. So desperate for your cock I want you to fuck me right here, want you to fucking taste it when you drip out of me."

Sherlock whimpered as he slipped from John's mouth, his hand following the shorter mans body as he moved away but he was quickly close to satisfied again when John's mouth latched onto his own and he could taste the salty tang of his own tongue and the undertones of John's familiar saliva exploding over his own tongue. He listen to John to what he wanted, what they wanted and fuck he could see it now - John fucked and bending over the desk, leaking come from his open entrance.

"Fuck yes, yes. And I'm telling you now you're not allowed to come until I've sucked every last bit of you out of that abused hole understand?"

Roughly and without care he twisted John, shoving him forward and wrapping a hand in his hair slamming him down over the desk, winding his other hand around to shove his fingers into John's mouth.

"Wet them good, suck them like the fucking cock slut you are because you just can't get enough."

After no where near enough time for John to properly wet his fingers he was pulling them out of John's mouth and massaging circles over the tight ring of muscle.

"You're going to feel this for days"

He bent down dropping a few gentle kisses on John's spine allowing the false sense of security to set in before he thrust in two fingers and listened to John shout out as he were forced to take them and despite the pain he was already fucking himself back onto him.

"Fuck - I wish you could see this John, see yourself stretching for me."

John's eyes were closed and picturing it, himself desperately trying to rock against the desk and begging to come, missing the rough pounding of Sherlock cock but driven mad by the telling feel of so much slick wet heat and Sherlock's tongue taking all of it from him - he could hardly stand it and was snapped out of his lustful reverie as Sherlock knocked him into the desk, slamming his head down filling his mouth with his fingers. John was so out of it and he tried to suck on them, wanted to, but they were gone far too quick to have done much good and it finally got through to his frenzied mind to try and relax as Sherlock rubbed his entrance, slicking it up and making him moan, and as Sherlock kissed down the notches in his spine and god how he wanted it, wanted to feel it for days, to carry the memory of it around with him all day and not be able to forget about it. He spread his legs a little wider, waiting for the first bit of pressure to slip through but without warning he was howling out as Sherlock fucked right into him with his hand, the stretch too quick and burning but John didn't care, wanted more of it as long as it was Sherlock as he pushed down, feeling the fingers in him working to stretch him more and more.

"Fuck - just do it, will you, need it. Fuck me. Want it even if it hurts just want you inside me -"

Sherlock was gripping his shoulder tightly, holding him down on the desk, allowing very little movement as he scissored his fingers inside of John, thrusting wildly into him so hard and fast and for as long as he could before his wrist began to ache, ignoring John's plea for more for as long as he could.

"You don't get to tell me what to do John."

He punctuated his word with a few more hard fucks of his fingers.

"I tell you when I fuck you."

He took his fingers away fast bending down and parting John, forcing his tongue into the widened entrance in his mind creating a table - before and after and God he couldn't imagine it tasting any better than it already did. He lapped into him hungrily his tongue moving away from the muscle and up to the small of John's back and along his spine, the head of his cock now pressing impatiently so close to what he needed.

"Now you can fucking ask for it, beg for it - such a whore for me, I want to know just how much of a slut you are for me, how much you fucking want me to impale you on my cock."

It was the sound of John's broken, disjointed arousal driven words that made anymore delay no option at all, spitting down onto his cock and hand, hardly preparing it at all before he was lining up and taking a deep breath to get himself ready for the anticipated tightness. He shoved forward giving neither of them a chance to adjust, just fucking into him as violently as he could, the sound of John's grunts as his body hit the edge of the desk, likely winding him but nothing could stop him now.

John thrashed between the desk and Sherlock's strong grip forcing him down, unrelenting in keeping him submissive, not out of any wish to actually free himself of course but because he couldn't manage anything else with Sherlock's fingers moving inside of him like that. He slumped for a moment, whining as Sherlock's fingers slipped from him but when he felt what could only be that hot wet tongue already it only made things so much worse as John moaned loudly into the top of the desk, scratching at it with nothing to hold onto. All too soon that was gone too, but replaced by the promise of Sherlock's cock touching just there, so close to giving them both what they needed, and the rough hand yanking John's hair. His legs were already shaking with effort and his knees knocked into the front of the desk as he squirmed and any attempts to gain any worthwhile friction on his cock were virtually for nothing.

"Oh Christ - such a dirty slut for you - need your cock to come in me and make - fucking make me wait, need to be filthy with your tongue inside me - please - please - fuck me - "

It was already hard enough to choke the words out he was so lust filled and desperate but then Sherlock slammed forward right there, nearly knocking the wind out of him as his body was thrown forward into the desk repeatedly, Sherlock's cock so rough and tight inside of him and it burned so fucking much John wasn't sure how it could be so delicious and perfect and just what he wanted, giving him the ache he'd feel for so long afterwards.

Sherlock was concentrating hard on ramming himself as hard as possible into John, fucking him without any thought of consequence or fear of being disturbed half wanting someone to come in and see just how good the 'freak' was at giving his doctor exactly what he needed most.

"That's right so fucking up for it, for taking my cock so so hard, I know you want more you always do..."

He knew how close he was, how close to the edge he was standing staring down into the promise of hot white pleasure as he teetered over it, his thrusts losing all sense of rhythm now. and the only thing running through his mind were disjointed pictures and incoherent thoughts brought forth by the sensations and the sounds of John shouting for him, not even words, just _him_. Fuck.

"Fuck, I'm going to come so fucking hard in you, give you everything you deserve my nasty little slut of a doctor getting what's coming to him."

Until now, John's pleasure had been also at the forefront of his mind, but one more thrust later and there was nothing but the tightness over him and the feeling in his gut and chest as everything around him dissipated into white noise and darkness, convulsing into John's stilled limp body as he came, writhing and shouting out John's name over and over falling down over his back, his weight pushing John's chest flat against the table. It took more than a few minutes for him to catch his breath, to remember the game wasn't quite over yet. Slowly and carefully he pulled out wasting no time before he was down on his knees enraptured by the sight of his thick white come dripping obscenely from John's entrance and without another word he flattened his tongue over the gaping wet hole pressing into it, taking all he could then moving forward latching over John with his whole mouth and practically sucking the salty liquid out of him finally curling his hand around John's aching cock so hard and hot and throbbing. He knew what John needed, and Sherlock gave it to him; fast, steady strokes, one hand massaging his tight ball sac while his mouth had no intention of leaving John, he had made a promise and he wanted to lick John Watson clean.

John couldn't even make out obscenities anymore, just noise, how only way of dealing with how fucking hard and good this was, how he needed more and never wanted to stop and how badly he needed to come as the hard table offered no damn assistance there, serving only to bruise his hips and hold him up when he couldn't even do that anymore. He couldn't have quieted himself if he wanted to, and he didn't, not giving a damn if there was anyone to hear because for right now all that may as well have existed then was the two of them and what they were heading towards though it was taking all of John's willpower and what little sense he had left to keep himself from falling over the edge before Sherlock, much less before what Sherlock was going to do to him next. John registered the hard rough thrusts of Sherlock's hips becoming increasingly erratic, losing rhythm, just an animal need driving through John and he felt impossibly fuller, the wet heat, and then the heavy weight of Sherlock collapsing onto his back, the both of them breathing hard and slick with sweat. He lay there gasping, whimpering as he had not only lost the blissful hard fucking but then he lost Sherlock's cock all together as well. John's eyes flew open now at the hot strong pressure lapping at the still very warm liquid slowly dripping out of him, and not just that but reaching deep inside of him, stretching and squirming in him further, truly driving all coherency out of him the farther Sherlock's tongue went. It was torture, pure blissful incredible torture as his body was so ready to give out just like this until Sherlock's hand was finally around his neglected achingly hard cock, and it didn't take but a few strokes for his vision to go as he was totally engulfed and overwhelmed by his own prolonged and euphoric release, staining Sherlock's hand and the desk and totally collapsing, body and mind, left shaking against the table.


	3. Crime Scene Part 1

**A/N Part one of Crime Scene. Warning for blood play.**

Several shots rang out in the dim light and then - it was over. John slumped against the wall, breathing heavily and nearly choking from all the dust. Blood from the cut by the tip of a switchblade a few inches below his collarbone was starting to soak through his shirt, but he hadn't noticed it yet. His eyes were glued to Sherlock, across the room, bent over the body of their assailant, phone in hand.

Sherlock dragged air into his lungs as he lent against the dirty wall trying to concentrate on sending off a text to Lestrade. His shirt was torn and his lips sore and split. It had been a vicious fight. Once he had slammed down on the 'send' button he looked up at John his eyes checking the familiar figure for injury. Sherlock was over to him in a flash.

"He hurt you? Is it bad? Christ. You're bleeding."

John momentarily closed his eyes and leaned against the wall as Sherlock's hands were all over him, checking and prodding and unbuttoning his shirt. He shook his head clear and grabbed at Sherlock's wrists, squeezing, and now it was his turn to look Sherlock over.

"No, no, I - ouch, well now I feel it, but it's not bad, it's fine, a scratch. Your lip, your - "

His hands reached instinctively for the tear in his shirt, checking over the skin there, sighing in relief at no more than minor scrapes and bruises.

"You're sure?"

He lent forward slightly examining the cut just above John's collar bone, not too deep. He watched a small drop of blood snake its way down leaving a red trail in it's wake and unconsiously licked at his lip, the tang of his own blood a little bitter. Sherlock dragged his eyes away from John's body to look directly at him for the first time since the chase and consequent fight.

"You're - you're sure you're okay?"

A shiver ran down John's spine at Sherlock's downward gaze, a look he knew all too well, and he had to blink a few times before nodding after his next question, huffing out a 'yes, yes, of course' while the events of the evening flashed through his mind. All the danger prickling around his senses for so long, the sick feeling he had had to clamp down on at their findings. There hadn't been time for fear when Sherlock had gone like a bloodhound off the leash, and John had been there right beside him for the outsmarting and outfighting of the criminal. He grabbed at Sherlock's forearms, shaking him roughly before pulling him closer.

"And you, you /idiot/, always rushing in and - and you were brilliant -"

Sherlock smirked tilting his head and leaning into John, breathing against his ear. The adrenaline and satisfaction of finally apprehending the criminal after a trying and exhausting week was so intense he was almost shaking. John's breathing was still ragged and he could feel John's chest moving against his own in disjointed rhythm. There was a want inside of him, a need he wasn't sure he would be able to justify; not here, not now.

"You love it, the danger, the uncertainty. I can feel it, even now. You're bodies so tense so worked up."

John cursed even as his eyelashes fluttered despite his best efforts, listening to Sherlock speak low and damn seductive and damn him, this was not the place or the time and yet, and yet.. For a long moment they just stood there, the air thick and both of them nearly overwhelmed with want and each knowing the other felt it.

"One of these days you're going to make me regret - "

He cut himself off by fisting his hands in Sherlock's already ruined shirt and yanking him forward.

Sherlock's lips met John's heatedly he felt the buzz of pain echoing from his split lip but it did nothing to dissued him, if anything only adding to the hot feeling coursing through his body. He pushed his tongue against John's mouth prying it open to feel warm wet bliss. Sherlock grabbed eagerly at John's shoulders trying to pull him closer despite their awkward positioning on the filthy wooden floor.

"Fuck - you taste so - so - fucking good."

John sucked hard at Sherlock's tongue in his mouth before pulling away and going back for more, for his busted lower lip that he took in between his teeth and sucked hard at, pressing the tip of his tongue to the coppery tasting split before pushing deeper and into his mouth. His hands gripped Sherlock's hips and tugged, pulling him into his lap and pushing his own hips up to meet him.

"Come here, get over here, yes. So hard for you, fuck, more."

Sherlock moaned open mouthedly against him, the pain swelling the pleasure to something almost inconcievable. He fell onto Johns lap, grinding down against him with sharp, erratic movements. Sherlock's lips wondered along John's jaw tracing down his neck and biting a little roughly against the skin leaving a small trail of red where his lips had dragged across John's flesh. He lowered his arms, wrapping them around John's waist his desperation evident in the quick sharp movements of his body against John's.

"Fuck. Never enough of you - never."

"Never ever... "

John grunted in frustration while jerking upwards towards Sherlock, trying to find a rhythm but failing in his desperation. He gasped at the harsh sting of teeth against his skin and he had to get out of his trousers or else he might just die here. John shoved hard until Sherlock was flat on his back and was over him in a flash, undoing their trousers and fuck why does that always take so long, then finally, finally they were gasping and grinding around each other, rough and John needed more as he wrapped his hand around Sherlock and kissed him again.

"You are so hard, so good."

Sherlock fell back his hands grasping at John, for any and every part of him. The knowledge of being here, in this dank, filthy house and of knowing that even now they couldn't control themselves was euphoric. Sherlock gasped in relief as he was released from the constraint of his trousers revelling in John laying over him and grinding mercilessly against him; Sherlock was ready to give him anything. He growled as he bucked up using his fingers to claw under John's top, scratching almost viciously at the skin of his back. His kisses now trailing down toward John's collar bone. Sherlock didn't even pause, he pushed his tongue out sliding it against the open wound. John's blood was sweet, like a drug forcing him into a frenzy.

John gasped sharply at the sudden sharp stinging across his upper chest and moaned at the feeling of Sherlock's tongue sliding against him. Even though it hurt like hell, he couldn't help the one sided grin on his face as his fingers curled around Sherlock's hair, pulling hard on the strands but holding him there.

"Go on, then, I know your secret, you love it."

His hand around Sherlock's cock squeezed and slowed down a bit, a mere tease compared to his earlier frantic movements, and he thumbed along the slit of the head.

Sherlock groaned because John was permitting this, practically asking him to take more.

"You...I cant - hide anything- fuck."

He parted his lips wider engulfing the cut with his tongue still playing across it before he sucked at it hungrily. Sherlock frantically tried to buck into Johns grip but John continued to tease him slowly. He could practically taste their blood mixing together becoming indistiguishable and it only made him writhe more feverishly, begging with his body.

Sherlock shoved a hand down between them curling his fingers around John's shaft so eager to have his cock in anyway he could. He grunted as he ran his thumb over the leaking tip, rubbing John's precum over his beautifully hard prick.

"Oh my fucking god."

John cursed and was panting, breath hot against the top of Sherlock's head, his hair covered in dust, they both were, everywhere and the smell was so dank - John just buried his face deeper, and mouthed at his temple as Sherlock had his way over his cut, the pain somehow entirely exquisite.

"Your mouth - always so fucking good."

He groaned and his hips twitched wildly as Sherlock's long fingers wrapped around him, so warm and good, and his own hand increased its speed.

"That's right, like that, touch me, get me off -"

Sherlock grunted, pulling his bottom lip over the cut, smearing himself with John's blood. He tilted his head upward looking directly into the other man's eyes.

"Taste it - us...fuck i want to see you - to see you take it."

The house was cold and damp but he felt nothing but need and heat. Sherlock tightened his grip on John's cock sqeezing harder as he reached the head but keeping the rhythm slow enough to tease him.

Sherlocks heart beat was hammering rapidly against his chest the touch of John's hand on him made him ache with want. He could never get enough from this man. Nothing would ever be too much.

"Fuck. Mon Dieu."

John steadily held Sherlock's gaze, those eyes burning through him, and his words seemed to only slowly come together inside his head, but once they did, it seemed to make so much sense...He licked his own lips and tugged Sherlock's hair, bringing his own mouth down to meet him, tasting warm copper, dirt, and somewhere, life itself, and it was - dizzying, to share everything with Sherlock. He tore his mouth away long enough for a quick look into Sherlock's eyes before he tipped his chin down and stretched his tongue just far enough to reach the edge of his own gash before bringing his mouth back to Sherlocks.

Sherlock's eyes where fixed on John in awe' watching that tongue flick over the edge of the wound.

"Oh fuck - I can't -Prenez-le, tout. Je vous appartiens."

Sherlock welcomed Johns lips again hungrily forcing his tongue roughly into Johns open mouth tasting everything. It was filty and bloody and so damn good he bucked wildly into John's hand. Sherlock's voice was small and pleading.

"More - John, I - I need..."

Sherlock could no longer articulate what exactly it was he needed just that he knew John would give it to him and he would take it. Beg for it.

For a moment everything but the feeling and taste of their joined mouths seemed to fade away, and it was new and exhilarating, and John honestly loved Sherlock's reactions against him most. Suddenly he remembered his hand, and pulled over Sherlock's cock with new intensity and meaning, wanting so much and hating that they'd have to end this far, far too soon when he once again even remembered their surroundings. But then - Sherlock was speaking, pleading underneath him, and faltered into wordless begging, and - fuck it, he thought, bringing his fingers to Sherlock's mouth where fingertips began to mingle with blood and saliva.

"You're mine, mine, and I want in you more ways than one, I'm going to fuck you right through the floor."

Sherlock sucked wantonly on the fingers John offered him, his own tracing along the line of Johns wound while the other worked his cock more slowly the fingers only ghosting over the shaft and dripping head. The want was incredible and John saying that. Fuck. Sherlocks body tensed with the excitement and anticipation. He felt the cool wettness of John finger slipping over his split bottom lip and down his chin.

"Yes, Fuck. Destroy me - right here on the ground - P - Please..."

He lent up again sucking quickly at John's cut, still taking advantage ofthe permission he had been given earlier, not sure if he was taking it too far. The taste was addictive and the want he had for it was overwhelming. Johns blood, his life, inside of him. Sherlock rubbed his lips against it then his cheeks and down to his chin before kissing at it desperately.

He had to pull away at some point to prepare him, but Sherlock seemed so... starved for this that John couldn't help but lean over him and let him take what he wanted. His head dropped back and he moaned, low and so turned on, the pain sharp but the feeling of being so wanted, so needed, was much sharper. John exhaled shakily and pulled back slowly, bringing a hand to Sherlock's shoulder as he tried to follow him with his mouth.

"Christ, you really - Just for a minute, I promise."

John leaned down, kissing over his abdomen and then shoved his own fingers back into his mouth, quickly rewetting them, and moved his hand into place.

" Spread your legs wider. Bring your knee up for me, yes, like that -"

Sherlock let his head fall back already mourning the loss of warmth against his lips but knowing it would be worth it. His body was shaking with arousal and with John's promise in mind and the aching thought of having John's cock inside of him Sherlock obeyed John's instructions, kicking his trouser down so he was free to bend his knees and spread his legs wide, anticipating Johns next move.

"fuck do it, your fingers in me - now."

Sherlocks tongue trailed out across his own lips lapping up the remnants of Johns blood drying against him, tight on his skin. So fucking good and all his, something that they shared between themselves and no one would ever have this part of John but him.

"Fuck mine. All mine."

"Fuck, that's right -"

John couldn't even stand to tease and guided his first finger in, twisting and working in, and quickly he was slipping in his second, eyes wide and glued to the sight.

"So perfect, so gorgeous, feel me in you - "

He was scissoring back and forth and the tension in his body, the noise in his head was making it so hard to concentrate, to wait, and when Sherlock urged him on beneath him, he did his best to slick himself up and aligned his hips, slipping his fingers out and pressing just at the entrance with his slick, sensitive head. Sherlock rode against John's fingers wildly. The pleasure send sparks through his entire body.

"Oh my...Fuck "

Sherlock's whole body seemed to shake as he felt the warm, wet tip of John's erection against him, just waiting for the moment when he could feel John's cock stretch him, enter him. He mumbled incoherently his fingers grappling at the skin of John's thighs trying to coax him into movement. He lifted his head looking up at John who was smirking down at him so confident he knew he could take Sherlock apart.

"Please - John please, now. Fuck me, no - I can't..."

" That's right, beg for me, beg for my cock. You need me to fuck you, only me."

John pushed forward, the tip of his cock sliding into Sherlock and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head, but he forced himself to watch the whole thing, biting at his lip and cursing as he slid the rest of the way in. He leaned over Sherlock, kissing him messy and needy, giving him a brief moment to adjust before pulling back carefully, and slamming in again quick and rough.

Sherlock swallowed hard as he felt John inching inside of him, burning mixed with complete pleasure.

"N-need so bad - you, just you. John."

His breathing faltered as he took the whole of John's cock inside of him at the same time Sherlock returned John's kiss greedily finding himself never able to get enough. He barely had time to take in how full he felt before John was pounding into him and everything was spinning out of control. Sherlock clawed against the dirty wooden floor boards, his back rubbing painfully against them with each thrust but it only added to indescribable euphoria.

"Fuck yes, take me. Want you, your come inside me."

John quickly fell into a hard, rough rhythm and he didn't let up, going nearly out of his mind with pleasure at Sherlock so tight and hot around him.

"Fuck yes, you'll have it, yours. I'm going to give it all to you - "

He leaned down for a quick, biting kiss, leaving his hand clutching Sherlock's shoulder.

" I love fucking you, so tight, so good. So gorgeous, look at you - and Jesus Christ, you're covered in my blood -"

Sherlock's nails dug painfully into the wood just needing to grip something as John pushed into him hard and so so good. He moaned loudly as John's cock hit his prostate with each deep thrust in. John's words washed over him and Sherlock's eyes widened, moving a hand from the floor to wipe across his face feeling the dried blood on his lips and across his face. He licked at his lips eagerly still able to taste it, being taken back to the memory of having his mouth over the cut. He groaned so loudly, unable to worry about being over heard. The sensation of John fucking him twisting with the memories of only minutes before.

"Fuck - John can I- I'm going to..."

John didn't think twice about his hand sliding up behind Sherlock's neck, guiding his face up towards him.

"Always yes, can never say no to you - fuck, Sherlock -"

His muscles were tensing as he laid into Sherlock over and over, the heat in him building up and almost too much. Especially when paired with the sight of Sherlock writhing desperate beneath him, the sound of his pleading and the smell of sweat and sex against the dirty floor, and he could taste it, all of it flooding his senses.

Sherlock lent up helping John guiding him, using his arms as a shaky support. His mouth collided with John's collor bone his tongue stretching up, licking at the now sticky wound, he latched onto it sucking hard and the fresh taste of John exploding into his mouth. Sherlock shouted out against the mark moaning uncontrolably. The feeling of fullness and ownership driving him forward. Everything shattered and he could feel the hot wetness of his relief spreading onto his stomach, reaching his chest.

"Fuck, John. John..."

His shouts turned into murmers, his body shuddering and his tongue still lapping against John's chest.

"Love you. I love you."

John fought to keep his eyes open for the incredible display before him, Sherlock being driven nearly out of his mind. His hips were stuttering and jerking as he moaned with Sherlock, feeling him close in so tight around him and he watched and felt as Sherlock's orgasm overtook him, his mouth even still stinging and insistant against his chest. That familiar tightness burned through John then, and he called out as he came inside Sherlock, and he was far too hot inside and out as he shakily lowered himself over Sherlock, exhausted.

Sherlock felt John's body shake and the pressure of his hot come filling him up. He held him through it, watching John come apart. He fell back against the floor, John's body following and resting a pleasent weight against his chest. He kissed lazily at the reddened area around the laceration above John's collar bone, gentle, careful kisses that reached all the way to the crook of John's neck. Sherlock breathed in the scent, sighing out against John's neck. His body was tired and aching but he didn't care. He wrapped his arms tightly around John, stoking at his chest and trying to ignore his senses which were flooding back to tell him they needed to make themselves decent.

John hummed pleasantly at light, tender kisses, and once he realized that was just what they were, he nuzzled his face against Sherlock's neck and kissed back, lazy and messy. He blinked, slowly focusing in on things, on Sherlock, who certainly looked like a crime scene and John half smiled, curious. He stroked alongside his jaw, covered in dust and drying dark red.

"How long have you wanted to do that?"

He laid his head back down again, kissing the side of Sherlock's throat, and mentally weighed the pros and cons of not bothering to get up at all...

"Anderson is going to have kittens if anyone finds out we did this."

Sherlock's body stiffened slightly, he cleared his throat and mumbled against the skin of John's neck.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about..."

He was feeling more than a little apprehensive, it was very well getting caught up in the moment but for him it had been so much more than that, such a longing, he worried that he had gone to far, taken advantage of the situation.

Sherlock paused for a moment, huffing out a small laugh.

"I'm tempted just to lay here so he finds us...ahh I can imagine the look of horror on his face. "

He smiled a little more brightly hoping to deflect any awkward conversation with the humour. Sherlock ran his fingers over John's forearms distractedly.

John laughed as he pressed a kiss just under Sherlock's chin, then rested up on his elbows and looked up somewhat more seriously, because forget Anderson - he should see the horror on his own face, smeared all over the both of them. John steadily looked at him, considering... but only gave him a quick kiss before sitting up with a tired groan and sullenly glancing at the state of his clothes.

Sherlock sighed and sat up laughing openly at John's expression. The clothes that had been left on the floor were not only torn from the fight but now covered in dirt, dust, blood and God knows what else. Sherlock took a moment to look down at himself, the rip in his shirt seemed to have grown and apparently it was now more rip than shirt. He pulled up his trousers trying to make himself look atleast a little decent. He grinned at John.

"So...How do I look?"

John tried to look serious, eyes looking Sherlock up and down and reaching out to dust off his shoulders.

"You look... like a crime scene."

He tugged him closer by the sleeve, leaning in.

"I'm growing a bit fond of those."

Sherlock shook his head, smiling despite himself. He touched his face again, the dried blood rough under his finger tips.

"I told you, nothing better than a good crime scene...How am I going to get this off of my face before lestrade gets here?"

John swooped in quick with an exaggerated lick up the side of Sherlock's jaw that really didn't accomplish much of anything and he pulled back, laughing.

" Nothing for it, looks like you're stuck with that until we get home..."

Sherlock snorted wiping at his hand across his face. He felt more at ease now, John was smiling and obviously not about to breakdown over what had just happened which was at least a little reassuring. Sherlock stood up, his muscles already aching and brushed himself off.

John busied himself with getting up as the faint faraway wailing of police sirens entered the edge of his hearing. He approached Sherlock and wrapped his arms around him from behind, a last moment of closeness before they would have to deal with - he glanced around the room - everything else. He sighed and rested his chin on Sherlock's shoulder.

"...I want - more, again. I think. Later."

Sherlock leaned back into John's embrace trying to close out the blue lights and whirring of sirens and just focus on John. He smiled wryly at John's words turning his head and laying a kiss in John's hair.

"Is that a promise?"

"Hmm. ...All right, sure, fine. I promise."

John squeezed Sherlock tighter and turned his face, nipping lightly at his neck.

" I'd have you again now if I could."

And with one final, quick kiss, John released him and stepped aside.

Sherlock shuddered then paused taking a moment to compose himself. He had well constructed excuses for the state of their appearances, that wouldn't be a problem. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to the door, a smile playing across his face. The problem would be getting through the next hour without being distracted by that promise. Something to look forward to, he thought.


	4. Crime Scene Part II

"Oh god, finally."

John stepped through the door after Sherlock and leaned against the wall, toeing off his shoes.

"They know we'll be in tomorrow, I wish they wouldn't keep us so long"

Sherlock snorted derisively slipping out of his coat and hanging it up.

"What do you expect, we already know how completely incompetent they are. "

He walked away flopping down onto the sofa and stretching over it.

"Honestly, how can they be so oblivious. These are the people who are meant to be keeping the population safe at night."

John smirked and made his way over to the sofa, tugging at Sherlock's legs and having a seat, pulling his feet into his lap and mindlessly rubbing at his ankle.

"Then again, maybe we should be thankful for a bit of obliviousness. I'm pretty sure we broke a few laws earlier. Well, more than usual."

Sherlock lifted his legs so John could take a seat before replacing them on John's lap. He laughed.

"Possibly, just a few."

He rested his head back looking up at the ceiling.

"Though not any I wouldn't mind breaking again."

John hummed in agreement, allowing himself to sink back into the sofa, relaxing for a few moments with an air of nonchalance. He held one of Sherlock's feet, carefully massaging and digging in with his thumbs in all the right places.

"I meant what I said, you know. So. You can cash that in any time you'd like."

Sherlock smirked his eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

" Well..."

He sat up sliding his legs off of John's lap and moving off of the sofa to drop down on the floor infront of him. He reached his hands up tugging at John's legs to get access. He watched John intently watching his feet drop to the floor and knelt up between them.

"I think now is a good a time as any, wouldn't you say?"

John's heartrate sped up a notch or two and he didn't bother with being coy by trying to hide his wide smile. He just leaned forward and reached out with his hands, draping them around Sherlock's shoulders and kissing him.

"Admit it, you can hardly wait."

Sherlock's hand slid up John's thighs scratching roughly through his jeans. He smirked up at him a dangerous glint in his eye. Sherlock pushed forward kissing John hard and he still tasted of sex and blood when Sherlock's tongue rolled across his bottom lip.

"Make me."

At Sherlock's challenge John clamped down over his forearms and hauled him up and over, shoving him back on the sofa. He crawled up over his body and hovered over his mouth, locking eyes.

" I'm going to make you beg for it."

As Sherlock tilted up to kiss him, John denied him by turning his head and holding him down, then pressed his lips and teeth to the side of his neck.

It was a game and Sherlock knew how to play it. He fell back onto the sofa and lent up to kiss John butwas denied. He let out a growl dropping back down and leaning his head back to expose his throat. Sherlock moved his hands around to ride up John's dirty torn shirt and dug his nails into John's sides.

" I take it you're not going to play fair?"

John responded by biting down on an already bruised spot on Sherlock's shoulder, a mark of his own he had made just hours before. He drew back and inspected Sherlock's ruined shirt, not sure how it hadn't already fallen off of him. He ripped at it further, satisfied only when he held a long strip of fabric in his hand.

"Now, give me these."

He caught Sherlock's wrists in his hands and gave them a squeeze, lifting them over his head.

Sherlock gasped as John's teeth dug into his skin, his eyes widening when he realised what John intended to do. He struggled against John's grip hardly even trying to escape. The idea of John having him bound up, helpless it made his stomach twist with pleasure. He squirmed under John trying to unbalance him, he wasn't just going to lie down and let John win.

"You're not trying very hard are you..."

"Maybe I ought to gag you as well "

John twisted and bent one of Sherlock's wrists back, in an attempt to  
force him to still.

"Now you stop that."

He continued with binding his wrists together, tying the strips tighter than he had originally intended to.

Sherlock could feel the fabric of his shirt cutting into the skin of his wrist. Taking John's words as more of a challenge than a threat. He pushed his body up, moving even more than before, smirking up at him.

"That would be counter productive John, if you gagged me how would you be able to hear me 'beg'?"

John ignored him in favor of pinning down his legs and digging in with his knees. He lifted his own shirt over his head and tossed it aside, now being the one to smirk as Sherlock's eyes dragged over him. He raked his nails over Sherlock's chest and pinched sharply at one of his nipples, rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb.

"Should've gotten you into bed properly for this, wrists to the headboard and the rest tied down flat on the mattress. Should test how long I could leave you like that."

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breathing, there was no way he was giving in so soon, but the image of John strapping him down to their bed, leaving him there helpless. Using him. He bit down on his bottom lip forgetting it was already injured and grunted as the pain hit him, more than he had expected but he used it to bring him back to reality and snapped his eyes open. He moved his bound hands up over his head toward John's throat pushing the tight fabric between his wrists against him.

"Stop it."

John held on tightly to one of Sherlock's arms while bending back one of his fingers until he relented. He looked down at Sherlock beneath him, knowing he was being allowed this bit of control instead of merely taking it, but enjoying it all the same. He would really have to follow through with his earlier threat at another time though, especially if Sherlock didn't stop squirming soon. He pressed down with his hips and played his next card.

" Stop or I wont let you. It needs cleaned and re bandaged, I'll go and you won't even see it."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he relaxed his body beneath John, almost instantly dropping his arms back behind his head. Shocked and so turned on that John was even thinking about letting him have that again. He could feel his will power crumbling away.

"No! I...Don't, I'll behave."

John was mildly shocked and terribly amused by how well that had worked, and ran his hands over Sherlock's pliant body, fascinated by the change. He leaned down, kissing and nipping under his ear, loving the taste despite the occasional marks of grime.

"Are you gonna be good for me now? How good?"

He pulled away and palmed over himself, watching Sherlock closely, and slowly unzipped his trousers.

"Next you're going to suck my cock. Got it?"

Sherlock's trousers were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The more John spoke, the more he applied his authority, the more Sherlock wanted to please him. He didn't speak as John undid his trousers he simply watched, his body starting to shake from anticipation. Oh how he loved having John's cock in his mouth. He lent forward uncomfortably as he had lost the use of his arms to lean against and let his mouth fall open, not speaking just offering it to John.

"That's good, much nicer. Keep it up and I'll reward you."

John walked his knees forward, straddling Sherlock's chest, and one thumb caressed the side of Sherlock's open mouth, the sight of it so beautiful and tempting. He took a hold of himself with his other hand, lightly smearing the head of his cock over Sherlock's gorgeous lips before pressing forward with a light moan.

Sherlock slipped his tongue out as John's cock smeared salty pre cum over his lips. He lapped at the head keeping his eyes fixed on John's and when John pushed in he lent forward as much as he was capable of, taking as much of him into his mouth as possible. Sherlock dragged his tongue along John's shaft as he pulled back sucking hungrily at the head of his cock before moving forward again so far he almost gagged against the pressure.

John gasped and moaned above Sherlock, fisting at his hair and ghosting over parts of his face with his fingertips as he worked. Sliding in and out of that warm heat, and Sherlock's tongue all around him felt incredible and always set him on fire.

"So good, so good your mouth was made for my cock."

John bent back a little, unwilling to move away from Sherlock's mouth, and reached with his hand to stroke and squeeze at Sherlock over the fabric of his trousers.

Sherlock watched John's face as he worked eagerly on his cock, applying pressure to the wet tip with his lips and swallowing it into his mouth sucking hard, his cheeks hollowing. He couldn't agree more, surely this was what his mouth existed for. He bucked his hips upward when he felt John's hand palming him through his trousers it was frustratingly good but no where near enough. His hands became fists unable to do anything else with them to relieve his tension.  
John continued the teasing movements of his hand, all the while his eyes were glued to either Sherlock watching him, or more often, Sherlock's lips wrapped around him as he slid in and out of his mouth. He kept on until he was gasping nearly every breath and his hips were jerking.

"Stop fuck, fuck, stop ."

He slipped out of Sherlock's mouth, missing it immediately and moaned loudly as he stroked himself over Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock tried to follow John's cock with his mouth but he couldn't lean up any further, he felt empty without it pressing into him. Each grinding movement getting more desperate but John seemed determine to tease him. He wanted so badly to have the use of his hands he pulled against his restraint uselessly letting out a moan as the tightness twisted against his skin and wondered if John knew he was about to break, about to beg. He fell back against the sofa closing his eyes trying hard to concentrate on something, anything else.

It took nearly all of John's self control not to keep going until he came all over Sherlock's chest, and he cursed repeatedly as his strokes slowed, but when he looked back up to see Sherlock with his eyes closed and not watching him, well, that just wouldn't do, not at all. He gave him a rough shake and shifted his own legs, pressing a thigh up between his legs and spoke sternly.

" Look at me, open your eyes. I won't allow that."

Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath as he felt John's knee press between his legs and his eyes snapped open. There was so much to take in, John straddling him, his cock hard and wet was tantalisingly close, but not close enough. Sherlock licked at his lips his eyes roaming over John's body resting on the cut on his chest. He whimpered trying to move his body. He moved his head to the side only to have it pushed back, he couldn't escape it. Sherlock's voice was quiet and shaky.

"John... " He whimpered. "John...please."

"Oh, you're gorgeous, that's what I like to hear."

John smiled slyly at him and tried to take a picture of this with his mind to remember always, Sherlock bound and begging under him, watching John like he was everything. It nearly made him dizzy and he palmed over the outline of Sherlock's hard, straining cock.

"More, beg me, please what? Loud and clear now, you can have it when you ask me nice."

"Please, anything I just."

He bucked up into John's touch moaning loudly. His cock was painfully hard pressing against the confines of his trousers.

"Off, please just take them off. I can't I just want everything."

He pushed up again erratically pushing harder against the fabric binding him.

"Fuck, John please."

"Fuck, Sherlock."

John scrambled off of the sofa to lean over Sherlock and undo his trousers, yanking them off along with his underwear. His mouth watered at the sight of his cock, straining with need, so red and hard and leaking pre come. He hadn't even registered what he was doing before he was on his knees on the floor, leaning up between Sherlock's legs and taking his cock in his mouth, hot and slick and salty.

Sherlock groaned in relief as he felt the release of his cock and then John's mouth was on him and he didn't have the brain power to be relieved. He was moving his hips in time with John's mouth, moaning loudly, his head resting back, twisting his wrists, enjoying the pain that fell in so nicely with the feeling of John sucking his cock.

"Oh fuck, fuck, John so good."

John was unrelenting in his pace, his tongue and lips and the slightest hint of teeth working over Sherlock over and over. He loved making Sherlock feel this good, all from him, and loved the taste of him so much. He gripped the base of his cock and pulled back, saliva dripping down his chin, and returned to lick up and down his shaft and over his head, tongue working everywhere, before pulling up and scrambling back on the sofa, back over Sherlock, and crushing their mouths together.

Sherlock groaned as John's mouth left his cock, instantly missing the contact but ecstatic to have John's body over his. Sherlock pushed up hungrily into the kiss his tongue pushing into John's mouth a twinge of pain coming from his lip. He paused for a moment before biting down hard against John's bottom lip wondering if John would punish him for it.

John gasped sharply as Sherlock bit down on his lip, and the second he had let go, John was yanking at his hair and attacking his bottom lip in return, biting down and holding it there and as Sherlock tried to turn his head away, he just sucked harder until deciding to let go.

"I was so ready to finish you off before that... "

John's hand returned to Sherlock's cock, his palm sliding over sensitive skin, his fingers lightly toying with him.

Sherlock fought against his restrainsts violently the need was so bad, the light touches on his aching cock no where near enough he wanted to grab John to for him down onto him but he was helpless. His lip was throbbing where John's teeth had reopened the split and his own blood was dripping into his mouth.

"I'm sorry, John. Sorry. Please. I'll do anything please just. Stop. Teasing."

John's own cock twitched with need at more of Sherlock's pleading, and John pressed their lips together again, revelling in the wet, coppery kiss, his own lips now stained red. He pushed at Sherlock and told him to sit up, guiding into a position so John could straddle his lap, and left his hands still tied. Once in place, John was grinding down against him and using a hand so they were sliding against each other with each thrust and it felt so good, so hot and slick as he gripped tighter. He groaned and pressed their mouths together again, licking into him.

"Fuck do it"

Sherlock groaned thrusting his hips in time with John, their cocks sliding together. He opened his mouth for John's tongue, sucking at it feverishly before nudging him away. His lips and tongue working their way down John's neck resting over his pulse point and biting at it. His body's movements were becoming frantic and he knew he couldn't hold on much longer. He licked over John's shoulder and down to where he wanted to be. Damn fucking paramedic.

"John, off. I can't. take it off, take it off so I can have it so I can taste it while I come."

"Oh, fuck"

John ripped the bandage over his collar off quickly, the adhesive tearing away from his skinwas a harsh sting that also pulled at and irritated his cut. And before he was over any of that, Sherlock's mouth was glued to hiim, his tongue and teeth and lips. John held fast onto the back of his neck, keeping him in place even though there was no chance of him leaving the spot. Both of their hips were jerking frantically and he was so, so close.

"Fuck, fuck, anything for you, have me in your mouth"

"So good...mine, so fucking good. "

Sherlock sucked hard against it, biting and licking at the broken skin. Oh. That was it, so sweet so, John. It made him dizzy as if he were in some alternate reality where all that existed was the taste in his mouth and John's breathing and the feeling of the hot pleasure that was rising up inside of him. He moaned against the cut unable to even focus on sucking at it.

"John, fuck, I'm..."

Sherlock almost whited out jerking wildly as he came all over John's hand and his cock, shouting out against the skin of John's collar.

John's arm closed around Sherlock's waist and held him close through his stuttered movements as John felt him tense, felt his greedy mouth, and his hot come over his hand, over his cock, so hot and slick. Only a few strokes after Sherlock and John was shaking against him, overwhelmed with pleasure, and he came panting hard against Sherlock's neck.

"Jesus Sherlock "

Sherlock felt John's body tense against him so in awe by the way John fell apart beneath him, that he could make him feel that. Sherlock let his head rest their unable to think or move just breathing heavily against the reddened saliva wet skin. He pressed his lips against it kissing it tenderly, saying thank you.  
John slowly came back to himself and he slid his hands behind Sherlock, down his arms, and fumbled a bit, finally freeing his wrists. He brought one to his lips, kissing softly along the red marks and slowly smiling.

Sherlock flexed his wrists. He snorted against John's shoulder.

"Im more than happy that on this occasion you were completely right you did make me beg. Don't get used to it me admitting i'm wrong that is."

"I got you good twice. Not half bad."

John wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his  
temple before peering down at him.

"Think I could bribe you into doing the dishes with it?"

"I suppose it would depend on your timing, it wont be there forever "

He sighed so content to just sit there resting against John shoulder. It felt like home, this was the only place he should be. He wanted to scold himself for the sentiment but was unable to.

"I love you."

John shut his eyes and sighed softly into Sherlock's hair, strands tickling his nose and he kissed across Sherlock's forehead. These moments like this when they held each other were the happiest of his life.

" I love you too. I really, really do."

He tilted his head to kiss the bridge of his nose.

"Let's go to bed."

Sherlock nodded smiling up at him, he got up following John into his, no, their bedroom. He was still dirty and covered in dried blood but it didn't matter. For the first time in days he knew he would sleep soundly. He didn't ever think he would understand why John loved him or why he was always there in the morning but it was one of the few questions he was happy to leave unanswered.


	5. Happy Birthday Part I

Quick reminder that all chapters so far are mostly edited because...laziness.

**(Warnings: This chapter involves: knife play, blood play, inflicting harm with permission. Please do not read if you do not like this kind of thing. If you ignore this warning and hate it then its your own bloody fault.)**

Once John had finished toweling at his hair, he pulled the terrycloth robe tighter around himself and stepped out of the small, steaming bathroom. It was going to be an interesting morning one way or another and he felt jittery thinking of a small white box stashed in his bag by the front door... he hoped he had made the right choice, and he was sure he had, but still. He padded his way down the hall heading for the living room or the kitchen, knowing he'd find Sherlock somewhere.

Sherlock was lying sprawled over the couch contemplating the complete absurdity of Birthdays and hoping fervently that Mycroft wouldn't use it as an excuse to come round and interfere. He hadn't bothered dressing and sat in his loose pyjama bottoms, grey fitted t shirt and blue dressing gown. He stretched out his back arching and his arms flopping over the arm of the sofa.

Ah, so sulking on the sofa it was. John anticipated the oncoming "it's just another day" routine that was sure to come up, but he amused himself that Sherlock would change his tune about that soon enough. He made his way across the room and took a seat right on the coffee table in front of him, smoothing down his robe.

"Well, good morning. Got any plans?"

Sherlock's gaze followed John across the room to where he took a seat and he let out an over exaggerated sigh of resignation.

"Plans...Why would I have plans? Do we normally make plans on a Wednesday?"

He knew precisely what John was talking about, of course John 'cared' about birthdays, it was obviously a very...Johnish thing to care about. His stare lingered appreciatively on John for a few more seconds before fixing back upon the ceiling.

"Ah - so you do know what day it is. Well, I'm glad to hear that because I guarentee you'd have to cancel any if you did."

And here they were, it was almost time. It was almost silly how nervous and excited he was for this next bit, even just to see Sherlock's face when he finally saw it, let alone what would happen afterwards. He did his best however to keep an air of calm and uncaring.

"I know you feel above this sort of sentimental thing, but I have a present for you, and I can promise you'll be surprised. Or something like surprised. But, if you're sure you're not interested..."

Sherlock blinked trying his hardest to feign disinterest. If anyone was going to surprise him it would be John, and it wouldn't hurt to - He sat up, trying to avoid the look of smug satisfaction on John's face and padded over to him looking down at him sternly with one eyebrow raised and his hands resting firmly on his hips.

"If you promise i'll be surprised - I suppose it couldn't hurt."

John nearly had to actually bite his own tongue not to remark on that last bit, because as he could personally vouch for, it would most certainly hurt. But, not in an altogether bad way, so there was that... It would be far worth it. He did let himself smile infuriatingly smug up at Sherlock before getting up and riffling through his bag, returning to stand beside him. He held onto the plain white box for a moment before holding it out to Sherlock in both hands, anticipating so much.

"Well, whatever happens next. At least it's not cufflinks."

"Well that's certainly good to know."

Sherlock eyed the box, moving it around in his hands, turning it - it gave nothing away. He frowned at it and then looked up at John, smiling before slowly edging the lid off and looking down at the contents. His smile faltered and his eyes widened as he saw the glint of steel reflecting the light and look of shock on his face. He dipped his fingers into the box and pulled out the knife. He lifted it, holding tightly onto the handle and stared at it, trying to analyse the implications. It could have been a simple gesture - but if so he couldn't see the reasoning behind it.

"So then - what? He spoke his eyes not leaving the blade. John - I..."

With the layers of tissue paper pushed aside, there it was revealed: John's old standard issue combat knife, rarely used but recently sharpened and freshly sterilized. John held his breath as Sherlock stared at it. There had been the flicker of shock John had been hoping for, but he also looked confused, and John hoped with all his might he had gotten this right, and surely he had, if the evidence of their previous experiences had been anything to go by, and the things Sherlock had told him, and even the way he reacted even to the slightest of triggers, like when John had nicked himself shaving a few weeks prior. He swallowed and forced himself steady

"Yours now. Since you seemed to like it so well. But - there is more, a special condition. For today - ...anything you want, however you want to use it... I trust you."

He looked back up from the knife in his hands to Sherlock's face for this bit, it being the most important part, and unwaveringly held his gaze, completely sure of decision to make this offer, though nervous at how well it would be received.

"Mine..."

Sherlock couldn't quite grasp what John said next the words were clear and the meaning was obvious. Sherlock looked up at John his eyes were fierce and unrelenting, no trace of fear or uncertainty. He swallowed hard, the full weight of John's gift finally settling down upon him. His mind and body were flooded with excitement and he could already picture the blade pressing against John's skin, beads of red following in it's wake, his breathing became laboured and he closed his eyes, biting down on his bottom lip to refocus himself. He took a small step forward and opened his eyes looking into John's as he lifted the knife and pressed it flat against the exposed skin just below John's throat.

"You - you mean? I can't, not if you don't - if you're not comfortable with it."

And what was he saying, because he wanted this so badly but he had to know, he had to make sure.

John didn't blink or flinch or do anything but continue to steadily meet Sherlock's eyes. He had given a great deal of thought to the implications and possibilities of what might happen next... and while John's main motivation had been to give Sherlock something special that he loved, those other moments they had shared came back to him often and he had to admit, he was definitely curious and interested in more. At any rate, it was better to be proactive than waiting around to be half stabbed by some maniac, certainly

"I'm sure, yes. I want it, and I want it to be you."

Sherlock was speechless - a rare occurrence. He just stared at John trying to read his expression - he looked so certain so ready for it - as if he wanted it too. Sherlock's eyes flutter closed again and he could already feel himself becoming hard he lent forward searching for John's lips and when he found them he pressed against them hungrily, a desperate and hot thank you, and a yes - yes fucking please. He could feel the knife handle firm in his hand still pressed up against John's skin and he could of done it then, so tempting so easy - but no - he wanted to take his time, to choose his marks and where he wanted them. He pulled apart from John resting his forehead against the other man's and opening his eyes.

"Bedroom..."

John's eyelids did finally close as Sherlock swooped in and kissed him, needy and intense. A very small part of him - relaxed wasn't quite the right word, but he was happy he had chosen so well and had decided to go through with it, while every other part of him was thrumming with a nervous excitement for what was to happen next. But he did trust Sherlock and he wanted to follow him there, to be marked and claimed in a way he had never been before. He reached a hand out, closing over Sherlock's wrist and tugged, pulling him towards their room.

"Yes. Ready."

Sherlock let John guide him into the bedroom unsure he would of been able to move without the helping hand his body was so wound up and tense with the excitement. He was shaking against the anticipation of what was about to happen. He stumbled over the threshold of their bedroom and John's hand fell away. He stood stock still staring intently at the perfect man in front of him. He shrugged out of his dressing gown and let it fall to the floor the sleeve catching on the blade as it fell.

"I want to see you, all of you."

John stood still a few slight steps in front of him and nodded once, curtly, before fixing him with a sly half smile. His hands slowly untied the belt of the robe, letting it fall open and exposing his front. He rolled his shoulders next, moving the thick cloth to slip off of him, pooling behind his feet in a heap on the floor. He stood there before Sherlock, completely naked - skin hot, hair damp, and half hard. John kept his eyes firmly stuck on Sherlock as he carefully gripped his cock in his hand, stroking slowly and biting his lower lip, waiting for further instruction.

Sherlock's eyes roamed greedily over John's body, mapping it out in his mind analysing each piece of skin and how it would look with that beautiful blade skimming across it. He felt his cock twitch in his boxers as he watched John rub himself slowly just looking up at Sherlock expectantly ready to comply to anything he asked. He dropped the knife down onto the bed and stepped toward John standing a few inches away from him.

"Undress me, John."

John swallowed thickly, his breathing becoming more ragged and he regretfully let go of his cock, but it was worth it to put his hands around Sherlock's waist. He let his hands trail over his hips, fingertips grazing his skin under the hem of his shirt before lifting it up and over his head, tossing it aside. He took the liberty of allowing his hands to begin at Sherlock's navel and slide up his chest, over his shoulders and softly all the way down his arms until John's hands were at his waist again. He tugged at Sherlock's loose cotton pajama bottoms and worked them down from his hips and down to the middle of his thighs where they then simply fell to the floor around his ankles.

Now, finally, Sherlock was standing before him in only his briefs and John wasted no time in letting his hands roam over the front of them, the stark jut of Sherlock's erection evident through the dark blue fabric. John's fingers and palm teased and groped over him, and his breathing hitched at the small damp spot over where the head of that gorgeous and impossibly hard cock was hidden from view. John sank to his knees and pressed his tongue to the spot, he had to taste it, as his fingers dipped under the band of Sherlock's boxers and pulled them down, sliding them down carefully until they too dropped to the floor. Beautiful. John simply looked up at Sherlock and waited for further instruction.

Sherlock's head fell back as John's hand worked over his body, lifting his arms so John could removed his shirt. He shuddered as the well practised hands ghosted over his navel and pushed his pyjama bottoms to the floor. His breathing became shallow as John's hands teased across the cotton of his shorts and moaned aloud when he felt the hot wet tongue pressing through the fabric. He lowered his head and looked down watching John kneel there in submission. Sherlock knew John was ready to do anything for him, it wad a heady feeling having this much control. John's eyes were fixed on his and Sherlock held the gaze as he reached down for his cock, taking a hold of it - so hard. He lent his body forward smearing the head of his cock against John cheek and across to his lips leaving a trail of precum. He reached out blindly for the knife taking a hold of it with his free hand.

"Your mouth on me now."

John's mouth fell open of it's own accord at the touch of warm sticky wet painted over the side of his face and now over his lips, his tongue coming out to greet it. His heartbeat sped up considerably to be naked and on his knees, in front of the man he trusted with a knife who definitely intended to use it, and Sherlock's next command was all he needed to greedily wrap his lips around the head of his cock. His tongue lapped up remaining precome, swirling and savoring the heady salty taste before sucking him in further, looking up at Sherlock as he took in more and more, until his mouth was full.

Sherlock groaned as John took his length into his mouth, the engulfing hottness causing his hips to jerk forward slightly. He took a deep breath and as he watch John take him full he let the knife fall slightly against John's unscarred shoulder, the blade flat against the skin - he could already taste the hot blood dripping into his open mouth the memory of it imprinted on his memory. He dragged the steel down the tip brushing over John's collar bone not digging deep enough to break the skin. His cock was straining hard in John's mouth and he was findin it increasingly diffcult to maintain some semblance of control.

"I want you to ask for it - beg me to do it."

All of his senses felt sharpened with the cold blade warming against his shoulder. John whimpered softly, the sound mostly lost around Sherlock filling his mouth, stretching his jaw, so hot and wet and salty against his tongue. He leaned forward, his mouth moving over even more of his cock and John concentrated on controlling his reflexes as he forced himself to swallow before pulling back and letting Sherlock's cock fall from his mouth, strips of saliva running down his chin. He never looked away from him, and his voice was low and gruff. Here was the moment...

"Please, please - mark me, I need you to take me. Sherlock. Anything you want from me, please take it, take me, cut me and make me taste it -"

John tried to brace himself the best he could for whatever was to happen to him next at Sherlock's doing, looking up at him and tilting his head to the side, offering himself up.

"Fuck - "

Sherlock let the knife slip from John's skin as he dropped softly to his knees and brought the edge of the knife up to John's chest over his heart.

"No one will ever doubt you are mine John, all of you."

He applied a little pressure, not quite enough to break the skin - not just yet. He watched John's body tense.

"I own you. Mine."

He pressed the blade harder dragging it slowly watching entranced as the divine red liquid blossomed from the skin he heard John hiss but it seemed to come from somewhere far off, almost unreal. He let the knife fall, enough to be starting with - and slide a finger across the shallow cut collecting the blood droplets and bringing it to his mouth sucking on it greedily. His head fell back, the taste sent him into so sort of frenzied euphoria and without a second thought he had brought his head down to suck hard against broken skin.

John inhaled sharply as Sherlock pressed the blade deeper into his skin, carving out a thin and shallow stinging line. His eyes had fallen closed and he snapped them open to see Sherlock sucking John's blood off of his fingers like a delicacy he couldn't get enough of and soon John's hands were scratching over the head now attaching itself to his chest. He moaned at the sharp sensation of his skin being forced apart by Sherlock actually sucking the blood out of his, out of a line over his very heart, and scratched at Sherlock's arms and over his back, nails digging in and gasping as he felt Sherlock's tongue pressed against him.

The coppery taste teased Sherlock's mouth just as he'd wanted - a taste of what was to come and if John's frantic movements were anything to go by he needed this just as much as Sherlock did. Reluctantly he let his mouth slip away and leaned in to kiss John, his mouth wet and open speaking against his lips.

"I want - need more. Can I John, can I take more of you?"

John kissed back messily, just able to take in the sharp tang of himself in Sherlock's mouth and over his lips as he licked at them. He tried to force himself to calm down and not get so carried away over little more than a single scratch over him, especially as Sherlock was speaking again, his voice low and still asking permission to take more when John would let him get away with anything. John pulled back and nodded, watching him eagerly, noting his expression and the flash in his eyes.

"Take - take me, yes."

He brought one of his hands to the side of Sherlock's face, thumbing over his cheekbone before pulling him forward, pressing their mouths back together with more force.

"I trust you, fucking do it."

Sherlock growled into the hard kiss needing no other incentive he rushed his hand down to the floor gripping the knife his other hand pressing slightly against John's throat.

"Get on the bed, lay down for me."

He watched John stand and drop onto the bed laying out for him like some sort of offering, he got to his feet and shuffle onto the bed straddling John. He brought the knife down again just above the previous mark, he didn't drag it out, it wasn't about the pain. Swiftly he dug the blade in deeper than before cutting through the skin in on quick movement the blood flowing more freely than before dripping from the wound. Sherlock wiped his lips over it, his cheeks covering himself. He lent down wiping across it with his hand and shoving his blood wet fingers into John mouth as he latched on to the open wound.

John fisted his hands in the sheets hard as Sherlock approached the bed and straddled him and all so quickly John found himself cursing loudly as Sherlock carved through him, blood rushing up to another line over his heart. It hurt, it hurt fucking bad and stung through him and he tried to get away from the pain as Sherlock - was in a frenzied rush of his own, rubbing himself into John, moaning and so greedy, so hungry for it, needing and wanting John so bad. Soon dripping fingers were being forced into his mouth and John concentrated on sucking them in and now found himself pushing up, up against Sherlock's mouth and face and chest, moaning around his fingers and all the hot and red pleasure pain that seemed to seep in and flow throughout him.

Sherlock's eyes rolled to the back of his head and his mouth fell open against the leaking wound letting the blood drip onto his tongue as John's body pushed against his. He didn't know where he was or even what his name was all he knew was the sweet hot fire rushing over his lips and he could hardly breath but he didn't care - it didn't matter. His lips closed against the cut again sucking the liquid into his mouth and holding it there, he slipped his fingers out of John's mouth and let blood and saliva fall from his open mouth into John's as he now free hand rushed down between them to take a hold of John's cock.

John groaned and opened his mouth wider under Sherlock while sticky red liquid dripped out onto him, running down his chin and smearing over his face, so dirty and wet and warm, especially as Sherlock seemed to chase the taste of it into his mouth, smudging rusty red everywhere he went. John's tastebuds exploded with the new flavor, finally getting more of it, the taste sweet and metallic, like the steel of the blade that had brought it out of him - and then he was gasping and bucking up, registering that Sherlock's hand had curled around him, slickened with more than just his precome, it was with his saliva and remnants of his own blood, it was everywhere.

Sherlock licked into John's mouth feverishly desperate for him to understand too know how amazing he tasted what his life tasted like burning as their tongues licked against each others. He breathed into John's mouth and when he spoke his voice was low and hoarse.

"Look at you, covered in your own blood, sucking it from my mouth."

He pulled harder at John's cock feeling his body shake beneath him.

" You love it don't you. Everyone thinks you're normal but I know John you're just as twisted as me - you want me to possess you, you're begging for it."

He licked over John's lips and down his chin kissing the length of John's neck, control failing him as he reached the smudged red on John's chest - he sucked at it hard lapping against the skin fast in rhythm with his hand fisting John's leaking blood painted cock.

John couldn't help thrusting up into Sherlock's hand, needing to fuck his fist and feel so much pleasure mix with the stinging ache throbbing from over his heart. He nodded along to Sherlock speaking and writhing under him, readily agreeing with anything he had to say or offer or take from him.

"Oh fuck, fuck, please, Sherlock - "

He shivered and missed Sherlock in his mouth but soon was engulfed by feeling Sherlock's incredible mouth against him, tonguing his wound in time with the hand flying over his cock as John pulled at his hair and scratched at his back

" You desperate fuck - " Sherlock growled against John skin the hot blood covering his lips over whelming him complete his cock was straining uncomfortably against his stomach. He had never felt anything so intense and pure - no drug could match this high. He sucked hard on the wound again drawing the blood out his lips down swollen and dyed red.

"Tell me John, tell me what you want - what you need."

" I need - I need..."

John was gasping and twitching under Sherlock sucking at him so hard again, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he tried to concentrate on thinking straight, on just what he needed. He dragged a hand over his chest, sopping up drops of blood and smearing everywhere as he reached out, wet sticky fingers closing around Sherlock's cock.

" I need. You. To make me come for you, please, please, please, kiss me, give me more to taste -"

Sherlock almost whited out - the sight of John heatedly wetting his hand with his own blood and then the tight wet sensation of John's fingers curling around his cock. He shouted out at the contact as if everything had been building up to this moment.

"I - better idea..."

He moved his free hand across the bed and felt his fingers catch the knifes edge, he gripped it tightly gasping as it cut into his own skin, he reached his hand up smiling wickedly at it before forcing it down into John's mouth stifling his moans.

"Take it John, taste me while you fucking my fist, when you come all over yourself."

He tugged even harder at John's pulsing cock his hand sliding easily over it squeezing as he reached the tip repeating the motions over and over his own body shaking as John's first worked hard against his own erection.

John watched with impossibly wide eyes as Sherlock sliced his own fingertips and plunged them deep into his mouth and he swallowed against them, his tongue working over them, tasting the hot fresh blood, metallic and sweet, of Sherlock's hand and the cooler stain of his own blood mingling in with it. His free hand held Sherlock's arm against his chest, not that his fingers were going anywhere, and his nails dug into his skin. He moaned louder and with more urgency as his hips continued thrusting up into the air, his throbbing cock in Sherlock's blissful grip, his movements all the time becoming more erratic and frantic until he seized up, panting hard and shallow around wet fingers in his mouth, red saliva dripping over his chin, and he finally came over Sherlock's hand, white strips of it streaking his stomach as he shuddered under Sherlock.

He laid there gasping for breath and twitching, everything around them and everything in his mind totally obliterated by what Sherlock had done to him - Sherlock, still thrusting into the weak grip of his hand until he tightened his fist, his eyes snapping open and focusing intently on him.

"Come - come on me, please, all over me -"

Sherlock pushed into John's fist the sight of their blood mingling together dripping with saliva from the corners of John's mouth was obscenely beautiful his eyes widened the sharp pain from his finger tips sending sparks of pleasure to his groin. He watched John come apart his body shaking wildly beneath him an hot come spreading and mixing with the traces of blood over his skin. He groaned and let his fingers fall from John's lips leaving a smear of his own blood painted over John's chin. He heard John's pleading and felt his grip tighten and he began moving frantically against John's fist diving down to suck hard at the cut filling his mouth with the taste and swallowing it down it burned down his throat, through his chest taking hold of him colliding with the pleasure coming from his cock and as they met in the centre of his stomach everything imploded. He shouted out loudly as his came with more intensity than ever before his white hot come bursting out over John's hand and stomach.

" Fuck - John...John. "

He tried to lean up but his weight collapsed against his Army Doctor as he panted laying sweaty, bloody and spent against John's chest.

John was still twitching with aftershocks as Sherlock fell over him, and his arm kept slipping as he tried to hold him. The weight on his chest pulled at his cuts and it stung terribly but for now he didn't mind, not at all, and he hoped to never forget seeing Sherlock come apart like that with him, traces of it still cooling between them and mixing with everything else. He did manage to tilt his head and get his lips to Sherlock's forehead, leaving rusty smudges against his hairline as he kissed him there before letting his head fall back with a groan.

"Jesus."

Sherlock huffed against John's chest his breathing still uneven. He managed to lift himself off of John falling onto the bed next to him and staring up at the ceiling filing every last piece of what had just happened. Sherlock felt full and complete and more human than he could remember ever feeling. He turned his head to look over at John, laying still except from his heaving chest and his eyes shut tight.

" All-Alright?"

John turned his head slightly and cracked an eye open at Sherlock, who looked more blissed out and at peace than John could remember ever seeing. He nodded slowly and clumsily shifted his hand over the mattress between them, searching for Sherlock's hand and grasping it loosely. He was still deeply out of it and not sure how to put what had just happened to him into words though he loved it. He sighed, the corners of his mouth turning upwards though itching as blood and saliva dried over them.

Sherlock locked his fingers in between John's and they simply lay there - he had no perception of time it didn't seem to matter. They didn't need to speak or move, just laying together with their hands clasped between them - covered in each other and a silent understanding between them that whatever this was 'love' would never be enough to describe it.


End file.
